After The Rain
by KittyUK
Summary: Lazytown is the perfect haven to fall in love, to raise a family...or simply to hide. Whose demons have come to town? Follows "On The Flip Side". M for sexual content, language, adult themes. WARNING C14 onwards REALLY not for younger readers. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1 Whatever Common People Do

**Chapter One - Whatever Common People Do**

The two men sat across the desk and surveyed each other thoughtfully.

Sitting opposite Mayor Meanswell, managing to dominate the room even though he was the visitor and technically the one under scrutiny, was a good-looking, heavy-set man in his early forties. His black hair was thick and slightly wavy, and his black eyes flashed. He was simply dressed in a conservative navy-blue suit and crisp white shirt, but Bessie had hissed in Milford's ear as they watched him step out of his car that his clothes were clearly made to measure, and fitted to his solid, muscular form as only a Saville Row tailor could fit them. Even though it was only two o'clock in the afternoon, he already had a heavy shadow of beard along his jaw, and when they shook hands Milford had noticed the dark, soft hair on his arms. He saw Milford surveying him and grinned engagingly, showing strong white teeth that appeared even whiter because of the contrast with his dark olive skin.

_This could just be the most charming and charismatic man I've ever met in my life_, thought Milford to himself, slightly awed. _What on earth is he doing here?_

James Thornton looked at the Mayor in fascination. He had been trying to get this appointment for nearly six months now, and had pulled every string he could find - which, he freely admitted to himself, amounted to almost no strings at all - in order to try and jump the queue. He had finally managed to persuade the three people ahead of him to temporarily withdraw their applications by paying them five hundred thousand dollars each, plus rental on three very nice beachside apartments in Florida, one per family, for a year. He had prepared meticulously for the meeting, acutely aware of how much was hanging on it, and had been expecting to meet a corporate clone, a smooth anonymous monster who had served his time on Wall Street and now retired to this most mysterious of roles, well-hidden, barely talked about, but within its limits a position of enormous power, simply because of the inexorable laws of supply and demand.

_He has absolute power_, the rumour mill had whispered. _Money won't cut it. The prices are fixed, the same for everyone, you can't bludgeon your way in just by flashing your wad. These days, there's actually a waiting list. And if the Mayor doesn't like you…he can just decline your application._

And now he was looking at a sweet, balding buffoon in a jailhouse suit, and with a countenance so mild it bordered on the imbecilic. It just didn't add up.

_This is either the best-disguised Master of the Universe I've ever seen…or somehow, Lazytown really is run by someone's incompetent Uncle_, he thought to himself, baffled and intrigued. _What on earth is he doing here?_

"So," said James at last, since the Mayor seemed quite happy to simply sit and drink the steaming cup of tea (_tea! He didn't even drink coffee! There didn't even seem to be a Starbucks here!_) that the plump, blue-haired but nonetheless rather sexy woman had brought them_. _"How do we do this?"

"How do we do what?" asked the Mayor, taking a bite out of his biscuit.

"The interview," said James, patiently. "The prospective resident's interview? You do have my application, right?"

"Oh, yes, my goodness," said the Mayor, vaguely riffling through the stack of papers on his desk. "I have it here somewhere, let me see - ah, yes - oh no, that's something else - is this it? No, that's the paperwork for the new playground equipment…oh, here we are…the Thornton family." He peered at James, looking slightly bewildered. "That is right, isn't it? Mr Thornton?"

"That's right," said James, trying not to laugh. It should have been completely annoying to sit here and watch the clock tick slowly round while this buffoon wasted his time (once costed by _The Economist_ at a thousand bucks a minute. A fluff PR piece and therefore exaggerated, but not too ridiculously wide of the mark); yet somehow, it was rather fun. There was, he thought to himself in amusement, something about the atmosphere here, something in the sunshine and the wild architecture and the clean air and the soft grass. The whispers he had heard here and there - a rumour at a party, a mutter in a boardroom - and diligently followed up, over long months that had finally stretched into a year and a half, had not exaggerated its strange and unique charm. A man could learn to relax here; could make his peace with his past; could maybe even learn to live the life of a good person. A young girl could grow up safe here…

"So, Mr Thornton," said the Mayor pensively, reading slowly through the notes in the file. "I see there's yourself…and your daughter Millie - oh, I'm sorry, _Molly…_and …oh, and that's all. Is that right?"

"That's right. Just me and my little girl. Not so little any more, of course. Just turned fifteen. Will she be safe outside, by the way? I left her sitting in the car…"

The Mayor's smile spread across his whole face like the sunrise spreading over the horizon. James had never seen anyone look so completely, contentedly confident.

"Mr Thornton, sir, I absolutely guarantee it," he said.

--

Molly sat in the car for a while, enjoying the feeling of the sun on her hair, and wondering whether to disobey her father. He had left her with stern instructions not to get out of the car. ("But I thought we were moving here because it was safe?" she objected, but he had replied firmly, "You're still my daughter and you're all I've got and I want you where I can see you're safe," kissed the top of her head, and left her.) But after the first ten minutes had slowly passed, the lure of exploring this intriguing little town became too much. She climbed out over the door and wandered aimlessly across the square, promising herself not to go out of sight of the car. Her father worried about her so much, he was so over-protective since her mother had died, but she was _fifteen_, for God's sake, it was time she started asserting herself a bit more. This town could be a new start for both of them.

On the green at the other side of the square, she could see some kids around her own age playing basketball, coached by a skinny, slightly manic-looking young man with blue eyes and blonde hair. It was a strangely old-fashioned sight. Back in New York, she and her friends all starved themselves to stay thin, made themselves sick after guilt-ridden trips to McDonalds or Pizza Hut, and occasionally went to the gym so they could show off their tiny, adolescent bodies in lycra, but hardly anyone actually played sports, and never just for the fun of it. It was all about the image; what was cool; what was new; what the latest fitness guru had decreed was _the_ calorie-burning exercise of the moment.

She longed to go and join them, but hung back for a few minutes, feeling shy. Then, while they all took a break, one of the girls spotted her and, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, waved her over. She was so warmly welcoming that Molly glanced over her shoulder, convinced that she must be waving at someone she knew; but no, it definitely seemed to be her. The girl waved again, smiling and impatient, and Molly was annoyed to find herself feeling nervous. _This is ridiculous_, she thought to herself as she crossed the square. _I'm the daughter of one of the richest men in the country. I'm wearing a Versace t-shirt and hoodie, MAC make-up and designer jeans that cost eight hundred and fifty bucks a pair. The guy who cuts my hair trained under Joseph Koniak. They're just a bunch of anonymous kids in a little town in the middle of nowhere._

She looked in the mirror, and rearranged the hood of her red top around her shoulders, fluffing her hair out so it hung flatteringly around her face. Swinging her hips a little in the way she knew would draw every boy's eye, she crossed the square to the little group waiting for her.

--

Gradually, without Milford realising it was happening, James Thornton was taking control of the interview, steering it in the direction he needed it to go, putting the Mayor on the back foot so that it began to seem to both of them as if the Mayor was the one being interviewed.

"So can you talk me through the financial structure?"

"Well, it's quite simple really, Mr Thornton…"

"James."

"Oh, my. Okay, then…well, James - oh, and do please call me Milford, by the way…it's quite simple really. You buy a lease on a property from the Lazytown foundation, which you continue to pay at the agreed rate, plus inflationary adjustment each year, for as long as you wish to live here. On your death, the lease can be passed to your descendants, including adoptive or step-children, but not to anyone who is not legally your child, your spouse or your sibling, and it absolutely cannot be sold. If you decide to leave, you simply give one month's notice and the lease is cancelled."

"Only passed down to immediate family members? Not sold?"

"The original founders of the project were extremely concerned with family values," said Milford peacefully. "It's written into the articles of association."

"And how about you? You're the Mayor, right? That means you're an elected official of the town?"

The Mayor looked uncomfortable.

"It's more of a courtesy title than anything else," he said. "I'm actually an employee of the company…and a…relation of the current owner."

"So it's still owned by the original founding family?" James smiled thoughtfully. "That's interesting. And I don't suppose the company is for sale, by any chance?"

"Oh, my…absolutely not," said Milford, looking shocked. James held up his hands.

"Just asking…the Wall Street shark in me just keeps on trying to get out. I'm sorry. So, how's the school?"

--

"Hi," said the girl, holding out her hand to Molly. "I'm Lizzie. Are you new here?"

Molly took the hand and shook it firmly, looking Lizzie straight in the eye, the way her father had half-jokingly taught her when she was six.

"I'm Molly Thornton," she said. "We might be moving here from New York. If my father doesn't screw up the resident's interview, that is."

Lizzie laughed.

"He'll be fine. Was that your dad I saw going into the Town Hall earlier? Wearing a suit, kinda cute for someone's dad? Don't worry, the Mayor's a really nice man. So, do you want to come and play a game of basketball with us and I'll introduce you to the gang?"

Molly looked at them cautiously. They were the first kids she'd met here. She had no way to evaluate where the power lay in the town, whether she was joining the right crowd or accidentally getting in with the geeks and writing herself into social oblivion. But on the other hand, it was dull sitting in the car by herself…she ran an expert eye over Lizzie's outfit. Nothing special, just chain-store jeans and a t-shirt; no make-up at all, and she was flushed from the basketball game. Then again, she was really pretty, with all that soft brown hair and huge brown eyes. Looks generally counted everywhere, they were the universal currency that transcended class and money…

_Come on. You're moving away from New York to get away from all the crap. To make a new start…to get away from all of that bad stuff that - no_. The forbidden memory was rising up in her mind like a monster from the centre of a calm lake, but she pushed it back down again, under the surface where it belonged. It was part of the deal not to dwell on the past.

"Yes please," she said, tossing her mane of blonde hair and smiling so that her dimples showed, and ran onto the grass. She was gratified to see that the boys were staring at her.

--

"So it's really true? This town does have a - a - " Even though he had patiently stalked this interview like a master hunter after the very rarest of kills, simply on the basis of this one incredible rumour, James could hardly say the word.

"A superhero," said Milford, without the slightest embarrassment. "Yes, Mr Thornton, that's quite right." He smiled at the look on James's face. "I understand it can seem a little strange at first. But people do seem to get used to it quite quickly."

"And how does it - how does it actually _work_?" James laughed. "Forgive me, Mayor Meanswell - "

"Oh, please, Mr Thornton, call me Milford," the Mayor interrupted.

"Of course, I'm sorry." (It was a point of policy for him never to use someone's first name at the first request. So many people confused _gentleman_ with _gentle_; it had worked in his favour many times in the past.) "And really, do please call me James. I'm sorry if I seem a little sceptical, it's just - coming here from New York…what does he - what does he do?"

"He helps people in trouble," said Milford, smiling and shrugging.

"So, what, he catches the bad guys? Like a vigilante?"

"Oh, my, no, nothing like that. He looks out for the children, brings them home when they wander off, catches them if they fall out of trees, rescues them from the lake if they go in too deep, things like that…"

"My God, do the kids here still climb trees?" said James reminiscently. "I used to do that all the time when I was young. I thought the art had died out years ago. I'm sorry, Milford, do please carry on. This is just - it's absolutely fascinating." On his face was the look that Milford had seen many, many times before; amused, disbelieving, but also enchanted.

"Well now, Mr Thornton - James - let me see…he teaches them a lot, too…sports and games, that sort of thing, and he just generally…encourages them to be nice to each other. He looks out for the adults as well, of course; when my wife had a car accident last year, for example…"

"And how does he _know_?"

--

"Okay, guys, let's get back to it - oh, wow! Well…hi. I'm Ziggy," said the basketball coach, smiling and holding out his hand. "Are you joining the team?"

The casualness of it was both frightening and delightful. Didn't these guys even _have_ the concept of the clique?

"I don't know," she said, shrugging. "I don't even know if I'm going to live here yet. My dad's got this interview - "

Ziggy laughed.

"I know, can you believe it, there's actually a waiting-list these days? But then it's so much fun living here, I can kind of understand it. I'm in med school, sort of, I'm going to be a dentist, but I still come home most weekends. You'll love it here. Oh - hang on - I forgot to ask - what's your name?" He was cute, Molly thought, but too daffy and hyperactive to merit serious consideration.

"Molly Thornton," she said. In New York, this was almost universally greeted with "_The_ Molly Thornton?" but she had said it twice now, and it didn't seem to be ringing anyone's cherries. She wasn't sure if she felt liberated or vulnerable.

"I'm Ziggy," said Ziggy. "Oh, did I tell you that already? And this is the gang - "

"I'm Mike," said a boy with dark hair.

"Jacob."

"Jen."

"Hannah."

"Matthew."

"Christopher."

"Isabel."

"Dante."

"Lizzie," said Lizzie, smiling.

"Ethan."

"Everyone, this is Molly," said Ziggy.

"We know," they chorused.

"So, let's shoot some hoops! Don't look like that, it's good practice. And now we're an odd number, we can't play unless someone sits out."

"You could play," said Lizzie, slyly.

"No, that won't work, because I'm too good and it makes it unfair on the other team. Why are you all laughing - ? Look, come on, we're going to shoot hoops. Line up. I'll go first and show you how it's done…oh. Oh, _no_." The ball bounced off the top of the back-board and wedged itself effortlessly in the crook of the telegraph pole overhead. "Er…okay, you all just stay here, and…I'll go and find a ladder."

--

"So the crystal goes off whenever anyone from Lazytown is in trouble?"

"Actually it's anyone _in_ Lazytown," said Milford. "His contract covers the area owned by the foundation."

"His _what_?"

"His contract."

"He's paid?"

"Oh, no." Milford laughed a little. "He does it because…because it's what he does, I suppose. He…protects…all of the town, and its immediate surroundings."

"For free?" James laughed in astonishment. "Are you sure he's a real live human being?"

"Well, he's certainly real and live," said the Mayor, in an uncharacteristic moment of dry humour. He looked at James, and smiled. "Would you like to meet him?"

--

"I bet I could get it down," said Dante, looking up at the pole appraisingly, and then glancing at Molly to see if she was impressed.

"Bet you can't," said Ethan crossly, aware of Dante's interest.

"Don't be stupid," said Lizzie. "It's dangerous, there's live wires up there."

Molly smiled at Dante, her green eyes wide, her raspberry-red lips soft and inviting. _Do it_, her gaze said, _and I'll be totally impressed. You'll be a man in my eyes_. She waited to see if he'd take the bait.

"Done," said Dante coolly, and began to shimmy slowly up the pole, his legs wrapped tightly around it for grip. They all gathered nervously around the bottom of the pole to watch.

"This is a really, really stupid idea," said Lizzie warningly. "Just wait a minute, Ziggy'll be back with a ladder and then we can get it down safely - "

"If we get it down before he comes back," said Dante, hanging off the pole to look at her from twenty feet in the air, "we can start playing, and then we won't have to get into a boring line-up and spend a boring hour shooting boring, boring hoops."

"Come down, _please_," begged Jen, hovering unhappily. "This looks _really _dangerous."

_Keep going,_ thought Molly, smiling flirtatiously as Dante glanced at her. He smiled back, and inched slowly higher.

"It'll be fine," said Dante, "I'm nearly at the steps. Look, I can reach the ball - there you go - oh, hell - "

They all screamed as his legs slipped from around the pole. Desperately he caught hold of the lowest iron strut with one hand, dangling in space as the ball bounced to the ground and rolled across the grass.

"I'm all right," he said desperately. "It's just - oh, shit, my hand's slipping…"

_Men,_ thought Molly in exasperation. _They'll do any stupid thing, just because a woman looks at them in the right way…_she wondered what would happen if he did fall, if he would be badly hurt, if she should feel guilty about it if he was. _Idiots, all of them…so easy to push around…_

…then out of nowhere, a blue-clad figure flipped through the air above their heads and landed lightly at the base of the telegraph pole. Without missing a beat, he held out his arms, caught Dante as he fell, and stood him on his feet again.

"Thanks, Sportacus," said Dante sheepishly, blushing a fiery red that showed even beneath his chocolate skin.

"No problem," said the man in blue. "But what were you doing up there? You do know that it's dangerous, right?"

"The ball got stuck," said Dante, even more embarrassed.

"Well…maybe next time you might just want to get a ladder," said the man gently, and patted Dante comfortingly on the back. "Hi, are you new in town? I'm Sportacus, by the way. It's very nice to meet you."

Molly realised she was staring. Hastily she took the hand that he held out to her and shook it firmly. The friendly touch of his hand against hers was warm and exciting, sending electric tingles coursing through her.

"Molly Thornton," she said, and cleared her throat to get rid of the dryness.

"It's good to meet you, Molly," he said, giving her a warm, guileless smile that she could feel all the way down to her toes. "Welcome to Lazytown…oh, excuse me, but I think _that _is for me…" He held up a hand and plucked a plastic tube out of what seemed like thin air, and unrolled a letter from inside it. "Kids, I have to go, the Mayor needs me. Enjoy the rest of the game, okay?" He gave them all another blinding thousand-watt smile, vaulted the wall, and was gone.

"Who was that?" asked Molly, a little breathlessly.

"Sportacus?" said Lizzie. "He's the town hero. You did know about him, right?"

"Well, sort of," said Molly slowly, "but I didn't think…"

"Didn't think it could be true?"

"Something like that…so, what's the hat all about? And the moustache?"

Lizzie laughed.

"I asked him about the moustache once when I was little. He told me he grew it for a bet when he was younger, and he kept it because it reminds him of home. But let's face it, he's still outrageously cute, isn't he?…Oh, you thought you were the only one to spot that?"

Molly felt herself blushing. Lizzie put her arm through Molly's companionably.

"You'll fit in around here just fine, Molly. _Everyone_ here our age has had a crush on him at one time or another. It'll take some time, but eventually you'll come out the other side."

"So has anyone ever got anywhere with him?"

"Let me give you a tip, honey - _total waste of time_. He just…doesn't even notice. Besides…" Lizzie hesitated. "It would really be kind of icky, don't you think? If he was looking at us like that? If he did…well, he just wouldn't be who he is."

_Nothing unusual about it where I'm from,_ thought Molly. _In New York older men look at girls our age like that all the time_. But she kept this thought to herself.

"And does he just…show up when people need rescuing?"

"Oh, he's around a lot. He's a great coach, soccer and basketball and gymnastics, you'll never be bored if you live here. He teaches dance too, sometimes, with his wife…she's amazing, really beautiful and sweet. I go to her tap and ballet classes. If you come to live here, we could go together?"

"He's married?"

"Married with a little girl," said Lizzie, shrugging. "You want to play?" They ran back onto the basketball court.

--

"So where do I sign?"

"Just here, please, Mr Thornton…"

"James. I insist."

"Of course…James…and here as well…and here. And that's it…welcome to Lazytown." They shook hands across the desk and smiled at each other.

"When can I get the keys?"

"I actually have them right here," said Milford, rummaging vaguely through his desk. "At least, I thought I did…Bessie, dear, do you have the keys to the house on Lime Street?"

The lady with the blue hair bustled back in again, sighing and smiling. James looked her up and down again appraisingly. She really was a little too heavy, and that hair colour was truly a strange choice, but there was something in the movement of her hips that said she had been a beauty in her time, and her eyes were still very blue…she saw him looking and blushed deeply, handed the keys to him and left the room without speaking.

"Is she your secretary?" he asked idly, twirling the keys around his fingers.

"Actually, she's my wife."

"I see…lovely lady." _Scratch that idea, then._

"Why, thank you. I certainly think so."

There was a rustle at the window and then a man was standing there, dressed in some sort of blue tracksuit. He was lithe, well-muscled, a fraction shorter than James and considerably lighter, but with strength and power written across every line of his body. Since early childhood, James Thornton had had the habit of evaluating every man and boy he met to see if he thought he could beat him in a fight. It had been a long time since he had met someone who he thought he would most likely lose to.

"You wanted to see me, Mayor?" said the man, smiling at Milford. James noticed that his eyes were warm and a very bright blue.

"Yes, I hope it's not inconvenient…"

"Not at all. What can I do to help?"

"I just wanted to introduce you to our newest resident…this is Mr Thornton. Mr Thornton - "

"James, please," he said, holding up a hand.

"James, this is Sportacus."The two men shook hands gravely, eyeing each other up. The Mayor would be the first to admit that he was not known for his observation skills, but as he watched them, the vivid image flashed across his mind of two dogs stalking around each other, hackles raised, looking for the first opening, waiting to see who would back down first.

"Welcome to Lazytown, Mr Thornton," said Sportacus at last.

"Please, _call me James_!" James laughed. "You're all so goddamn polite around here, I'll never fit in…so, you're the - superhero?"

The other man shrugged and smiled.

"Well…maybe just slightly above average," he said, looking embarrassed.

"And it's really your job to keep everyone honest?"

"Actually, no," he replied without any self-consciousness, shaking his head. "My job is just to help people who are in trouble. I'm afraid honesty is something people have to figure out for themselves. I'm not the police, Mr Thornton."

"James, please…but you would know…if someone was committing a crime? If someone was hurting someone else?"

"Yes, of course."

"And you'd be able to stop it?"

"That's what I do, Mr Thornton." He hesitated. "Is there someone in particular you're worried about? Do you have family you are concerned for?"

James couldn't place his accent. _Somewhere in Europe_, he thought, _but where?_

"My daughter," he said. "Molly. She's sitting in the car outside…" he glanced out of the window, then was instantly leaning out of it, his entire body tense. "Where's she gone? Holy fuck, where is she - ?"

He felt a friendly hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry. She is absolutely fine. I've just seen her. She's playing basketball with the kids over on the green…see?" James looked where Sportacus was pointing and sure enough, there she was, her bright red hood clearly visible.

"So she is," he said sheepishly. "I'm sorry. It's just - she's a kidnap risk - "

The other two men looked at him in gentle bafflement.

"May I ask why?" asked Sportacus at last, infinitely polite.

James held his hands up in frustration. They really had absolutely no idea who he was, either of them.

"I'm…kinda rich," he said at last. "And I've annoyed a lot of people over the years, getting that way. Oh, look, you might as well know, you're probably going to find out in the end…I'm…well, I'm kind of the eighteenth richest man in America. Sometimes the seventeenth, sometimes the nineteenth, depending on the way the market goes. Once I was sixth, but only for a month or so. So…" he shrugged.

Milford and Sportacus looked at each other for a quick moment.

"Well, I promise I will do my very best to make sure she stays safe while she's here," said Sportacus at last.

"I know you will, that's why I was so keen to move here…thank you." To break the mood, he looked questioningly at Sportacus's crystal. "And that's the magic crystal, is it? The one that lets you know - "

"Yes, that's right."

"How does it work? I'm always interested in new technologies, that must be a blinder…"

"I'm afraid I'm not allowed to talk about it," said Sportacus, gently but firmly.

"Not allowed? By who?"

"It's just really not allowed, I'm afraid."

"Fair enough….does it stop working if you do?"

"Mr Thornton, I'm really very sorry but I simply _cannot_ discuss - "

"Okay, understood, and _I'm_ sorry. It's just me, I can't help myself, I'm nosy by nature. I'm interested in anything and everything. Well…I'd better go, we've got a lot to do to get ready for the move, but - I'll be seeing you, okay? Both of you. Pleasure meeting you." He shook hands firmly in the way politicians do, taking their single hand between both of his own. Then he walked out of the office.

"Oh, my," said Milford at last.

Sportacus looked at him and raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"Do you think the town is going to be over-run with…with kidnappers?" asked Milford.

"No, I really don't think so," replied Sportacus, trying not to laugh.

"But he did say…"

Sportacus hesitated. There had been something in James Thornton's face when they had looked at each other for the first time that had puzzled him; relief, but also a strange resentment. _So, you're the superhero_, he had said, politely shaking hands, but nevertheless, straight away they had looked at each other and had known they were on opposing sides. What had it been about the man that had instantly raised his defences, made him wary and alert and ready for trouble? Was it simply his tremendous personal presence, which allowed him to dominate the room simply by being in it? Was it the aura of money that hovered about him like an invisible cloud? The look of cold panic on his face when his daughter had been out of his sight for just a few seconds? _She's a kidnap risk_, the man had said, but he was as sure has he had ever been in his life that this was not the truth.

But then, what demons had driven him to hide his daughter away here in Lazytown?

"Do you think I've made the right decision?" Milford asked him.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second.

"Has he signed the lease?"

"Yes."

"Then there's absolutely no point worrying," he said, smiling. "Did you need me for anything else?"

"No, that was everything, thank you so much for stopping by…send my love to Stephanie and Emma, won't you?"

"Of course…I'll see you later." He somersaulted out of the window, and was gone.

Bessie came back into the room with a plate of more biscuits.

"What did you think?" he asked her, putting his arm around her.

"He seemed…very nice," said Bessie, blushing a little as she remembered the frank way he had appraised her, the glint in his eyes when he looked at her and smiled.

"I think Sportacus hates him," said Milford, dunking a chocolate chip cookie into his cold tea.

"What? No, that can't be right. Sportacus never hates anybody," said Bessie, baffled. "Not even - " she stopped, and Milford patted her hand comfortingly.

"Well, maybe I'm wrong…it was just - something about the way they looked at each other."

"Did you ask him about it?"

"Well, I asked him if he thought I'd made the right decision. Come to think of it, he didn't exactly answer me." He sighed and rubbed his left shoulder, wincing.

"Are you still getting those pains?" asked Bessie sharply. "Milford, I've told you, Stephanie's told you, Sportacus has told you. You really need to see a doctor."

"I know, dear, I know…it's just so busy at the moment…maybe next week. The applications just keep piling up, it's extraordinary."

"Have another biscuit," she said, offering the plate.


	2. Chapter 2 It Doesn't Fit My Plans

**Chapter Two - It Doesn't Fit My Plans**

"Are you nervous for her?" Bessie whispered in Milford's ear. "I am. I hope it all goes perfectly, don't you?"

"I'm sure it will all be splendid," he replied, rubbing at the nagging pain in his shoulder and left arm. "Stephanie's a clever girl, she knows what she's doing…oh, look, there's Sportacus with Emma. Shall we go and say hello?"

They looked across the crowds of people gathering around the rows of chairs by the outdoor stage in the early evening sunshine. There were enough seats for the parents of the performers, but it was already clear that the whole town was going to turn out for the inaugural summer recital from the Lazytown Dance School. Emma, twenty months old and excited by the crowds of people, shrieked and waved when she saw them, dashing precariously through the crowd to reach them, with her father, laughing, in pursuit. Milford scooped her up, then, surprised by how heavy she felt, passed her hastily to Bessie.

"Well, I think we know where she gets her amazing turn of speed from," he said, smiling at Sportacus.

"And how are you, my darling girl?" cooed Bessie, nuzzling the perfect little face beneath the cap of pink hair. "I've missed you…yes I have…give me a kiss, little princess…" Emma smiled obligingly, but leaned out of Bessie's arms to reach out to Milford, patting his chest with her soft hands. "Would you like us to have her with us for the performance, Sportacus?"

"That's extremely kind of you, Bessie, but really, we'll be fine."

"But you'll have so much to do, all these children around, getting themselves into trouble, without having Emma with you as well…let us help you out, dear. Really, it's no trouble."

They all knew that Emma was more than happy to be passed on to someone else for a few minutes by her daddy; it had been happening to her almost since she was born. They all knew that anyone in the town would be more than glad to look after her for him, since he had always looked after all of their children. They all knew what Bessie really meant was _Please, please let me keep her with me for the performance and prove to you both you can trust me with her_, but he smiled in resignation, too soft-hearted to be firm.

"Well…in that case, thank you, that's very kind of you, Bessie. Behave yourself," he said to Emma with pretended sternness, kissing her hands and face and then tickling her under the chin. She laughed, pulled his moustache, and planted a noisy kiss on his cheek. Then, despite Bessie's protests, she went to sit on Miford's knee, pressing her head confidingly against his heart.

--

"I'm only coming to this because you made me," said Robbie moodily.

"You might enjoy it," coaxed David.

"Oh, yes, I _might_. In a universe of infinite size and endless duration, anything is possible. It _might_, you tiresome young Pollyanna, be snowing in Hell this afternoon. But personally, I doubt it."

"Well, you can at least admire the lighting work I've done."

Robbie squinted ostentatiously up at the bright sunshine, and then looked at David meaningfully.

"Yeah, I _know_, but that's why it's so hard, you see. Because the audience are in bright sunshine, but the stage is covered, so it's really tricky to get it right…oh, look, could you at least pretend to be interested?"

"Honesty is the key to successful long-term relationships."

"You're a miserable old bastard, Robbie," said David in exasperation."Oh yes, indeed I am, but you'd do well to remember that I'm the miserable old bastard who keeps you in Armani jeans. Ugh, no, don't you even _think _about kissing me in public, I've told you before."

"I don't know why I put up with you," said David, smiling a little.

"Neither do I. So let's stop this conversation right now while we're still maintaining the pleasing illusion that we're actually compatible. Go and…check the rig, or whatever it is that you do. I'll see you at the end. Assuming I haven't expired from the tedium of it all and been taken away for burial."

David rolled his eyes and turned away, then felt two hands roughly grab his shoulders and spin him around.

"I can't believe I'm doing this," muttered Robbie under his breath, and kissed him, hard and fiercely. "_Don't_ look at me like that, you soppy fool. If you're going to wear those jeans, I'm going to have to give in to my basest carnal desires from time to time. Now go away, you're corrupting the purity of my principles."

--

_From the New York City ballet to a small school dance recital_, thought James in amusement, as he steered Molly protectively through the field. _And it's not even as if I've got the excuse of Molly being up there on the stage_. But he was determined to make Lazytown their home, and he knew that there was no better way to integrate into the community than to attend occasions like these. Next year - assuming the whole thing didn't fall flat on its face and there _was_ a next year - maybe he could sponsor an outside performance from a quality dance company. Someone up-and-coming, he mused, who would be grateful for his support; maybe there was a company in Metropolis…? In the meantime, he would spend the evening unravelling the lines and threads of power within the town; who was important to know, who he needed to be nice to and who he could afford to ignore…after so many years of being able simply to buy whatever he wanted and bully his way into the best place in the sun, it was an intoxicating experience to be falling back on his wits and his legendary charm to make a place for himself and his daughter.

_And_, he thought to himself, _maybe…_there were some really beautiful young women here tonight. _Something else I can't expect to simply buy any more_. He glanced down at Molly, and reminded himself why they had come here.

_Worth it_, he thought fiercely. _Need to keep her safe…this is the only place where I can be sure…_

"Are you sure you'll be all right?" he asked her, putting his arm around her shoulders. "You don't have to be on your own, I'll sit with you if you prefer."

"Dad," she said in exasperation.

"We've only been here a couple of weeks…are you sure you know the girls you're meeting?"

"_Yes_. Look, there they are, Isabel and Jen, over there by the stage. See?" she pointed.

"Okay. Well, I'll see you here by this tree at the end. All right? And don't leave without me. You promise me, Milly-Molly-Mandy?"

"Promise." She slid away through the crowd. He watched her go, not taking his eyes off her until he was sure she was with people she knew. The seats had all been taken long ago and he preferred to stand anyway, so he made his way to the back of the crowd. Standing next to him, glowering from under thick black eyebrows and looking as bored as it was possible to be, was a tall, thin man with black hair, wearing a beautifully cut maroon velvet smoking jacket.

--

The performance was far better than he had expected. Although none of the dancers were going to make it professionally, they had been very well-trained, and the performance had been carefully tailored to show them at their best. Then, to his amazement, there was a murmur of expectation, and he heard the opening of Saint-Saen's _Le Cygne_.

Surely there was no-one remotely good enough in this provincial little school to dance Pavlova's _Dying Swan_, was there…? Then the spotlight came up and shone on a slim, graceful girl, dressed in white, with vivid pink hair fastened back in a sleek, tight knot at the base of her immaculately beautiful neck. He felt his heart actually skip a beat as she began to dance, and heard a whisper of delight pass through the crowd.

What in the hell was a dancer of that calibre - hell, a _girl _of that calibre - doing here, of all places? She was utterly magical. Her dancing stirred his heart, and her beautiful face and blindingly lovely figure stirred his loins. And that hair, that outrageous, extraordinary hair…he found himself imagining what it would be like to have her kneeling on top of him, her hair falling about them both like a waterfall, or, better yet, pinned helplessly beneath him with those strong dancer's legs wrapped firmly around his back. He felt his breath coming faster and heavier.

When she fluttered to the floor, her head bowed, and the entire audience rose to its feet to applaud, he glanced around and realised that Sportacus was standing next to him. He was surprised to see that his eyes were fixed on the beautiful girl on the stage too. _So he _is_ just a man like the rest of us, after all…maybe we can find some common ground…_

"Christ, she's absolutely stunning, isn't she?" he whispered to Sportacus, who looked slightly taken aback, but answered politely enough.

"Well…yes, Mr Thornton, she is. At least I've always thought so."

"All that amazing hair," said James, distractedly. "I wonder if she dyes the rest of it to match?"

"_Excuse me_?"

"Oh, come on, don't act like you haven't noticed. I saw you watching her, too. Christ, any man with blood in his veins would be thinking what we were thinking. She's the hottest thing I've seen in years."

Sportacus turned and looked at him in incredulity and total silence for a moment, his arms folded across his chest, and although there was nothing overtly threatening in his stance, James felt himself instinctively brace himself for a fight. Just as the other man was about to speak, his crystal suddenly began to bleep. Instead he merely held up one finger, gave James a very hard stare, and disappeared through the crowd.

"What?" asked James, baffled. He turned to the man in the velvet jacket on his other side. "What the hell did I say?"

The man looked him up and down for a second, then grinned and took out a small silver flask from his pocket. He took a swallow, then offered it to James.

"I'm Robbie," he said. "Robbie Rotten, the town Bad Man. And I don't know what you said, but I'd love to, because winding up Sportacus has been a hobby of mine for years. Or trying to, I should say, because I've hardly ever managed to get _that_ kind of a rise out of him, and you've done it on your first attempt. I'm impressed. Tell me, what _did _you say?"

James took the flask gratefully. It was a complete pain living in an ostensibly dry town. Even though many of the residents discreetly flouted the law, not being able to get a drink in public places was already beginning to grate on him.

"We were just looking at that incredible girl," he said, shrugging. "I guess I was checking her out. I saw him doing it too, it was just a bit of man-to-man banter. I thought it was, anyway; he obviously didn't. I guess I've still got a lot to learn about living in a small town. I blame the pink hair...it distracted me. I wasn't thinking." He took a meditative swallow from the flask.

"The girl with the pink hair? You mean his wife?" asked Robbie calmly. James choked and spluttered. "You really didn't know they were married? Okay, do tell me, please. What _exactly_ did you say to him?"

"I said - I said - oh, my God…" James was caught between horror and laughter. "I said I thought she was the hottest thing I'd seen in years, and I asked him if - if he thought that she - if he thought that she dyed all of her hair that colour…"

Robbie doubled over in a huge spasm of silent laughter. After a minute, James began to laugh too, so hard that it hurt. They leaned against each other and gasped and wheezed for a while.

"Well, I suppose he would know," said James at last, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes.

"One would certainly hope so," said Robbie gravely.

"Is he ever going to forgive me, do you think? Or is he going to kill me and then eat my liver for supper?"

"With some fava beans and a nice Chianti?" asked Robbie, smiling. "Amazing, we've got someone in the town with a sense of humour at last…well, he's forgiven me for a great many things over the years, but in my experience, she's the one area where he really doesn't have much of a sense of perspective."

James raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Ah. Sorry to disappoint you so soon in our acquaintance, old boy, but no; as far as I know, she's never even looked at anyone else in her sweet and boring little life. And besides, women aren't really my thing." He winked over the top of the flask.

"Well, at least we're not going to be competing for the same girls, then," said James, shrugging. "Was that your boyfriend I saw you with earlier? Beautiful boy with huge green eyes, about half your age? Well done. I'm James, by the way…James Thornton."

"Really? _James Thornton_ James Thornton? I _thought _I recognised you. Good Lord." Robbie took his hand and shook it reverently.

"You know who I am?"

"Why? Doesn't anyone else?"

"Not so far. It's quite a novelty to be incognito."

"And what on earth are you doing here?"

"We moved here," said James, shrugging.

Robbie laughed.

"To _Lazytown_? Why?"

"Protection," said James shortly. "For my little girl. I can do business anywhere, but here - because of _him _- I know she's as safe as anyone can be."

"It's a huge pity you've managed to upset the town hero, then," murmured Robbie, passing the flask over again. "I hope you didn't spend too much time and effort moving here?"

James looked at him in horror for a moment, then realised he was joking.

"Oh, fucking hilarious, Robbie," he said crossly. "Did you pull the wings off flies when you were a child?"

"Actually, yes I did."

"Yeah, I thought so. Me too."

_He's not kidding about being the town Bad Man. _

_Excellent. Found my first kindred spirit._

--

Although the recital was over, no-one seemed in a hurry to leave. Someone had strung fairy lights and garlands of paper flowers through the trees, and they twinkled prettily as the townspeople mingled and chattered. The boys climbed up and pulled the flowers down for the girls.

"I bet I can get one down for you," said Ziggy to Marie. She looked at him for a second, then burst out laughing.

"Don't you think we're a bit grown-up to be dragging the decorations down from out of the trees?" she asked him, patting his arm fondly.

_She's always laughing at me_, he thought in despair. _How do you get girls to take you seriously if you're not super-rich or a super-hero? _He picked her a bunch of poppies from the long grass at the edge of the field instead, and she tucked one into her long dark hair as they wandered around.

James looked for Molly, and spotted with a cluster of other kids her own age. He recognised Lizzie, the girl who had danced in the tap number at the recital (_another pretty girl…there must be something in the water around here_) and Isabel and Jennifer. _Good to see her settling in. Although she seems to have more of those stupid paper flowers than any of the other girls. Good sign? Bad sign? Hard to know what's normal…_

His phone rang. It was the new 6000 series from Kahuna, the latest achingly cool technology, so new it wasn't even on the mainstream market yet, but he knew the chairman and had managed to talk him into giving him and his fifty most senior staff the very first batch off the production lines.

"Hello?" he said, and then tutted in exasperation. The promise was fabulous - what the marketing team were calling a "cone of silence" which meant that no-one around you could hear what you were saying - but he was still figuring out how to work it. "Hello? Oh, this _fucking_ phone, I swear I'm sending it back in the morning…look, if you can hear me I'll call you back, okay? Whoever you are. What - hang on, excuse me - what the _bloody hell_ do you think you're - " A boy of around twenty, with bright orange hair and a pair of Oakley shades, had calmly taken the phone out of his hands.

"You need to press here to activate the cone," he said, handing it back. "There you go." He took the game pack back out of his belt and went back to his game.

James wound the call up as quickly as he could, and then turned to the boy in astonishment.

"How did you know how to work my phone?" he demanded. "It's not even on the market yet, it's the new - "

"Six Thousand series from Kahuna," agreed the boy, smiling delightedly. "What do you think? Do you like it?"

"Well, I'd like it a whole lot more if I could actually _work _it, but I think it'll be the biggest thing in telecoms for the next five years. But…but how do _you _know about it?"

"Oh, I…well, I designed it," said the boy, shrugging modestly.

James looked at him in disbelief.

"So who are you?" he asked suddenly.

"My name's Pixel Wright. I live here. Well, actually I'm at college still, in Boston, but this is where I'm from. So, what do you think of the phone?"

"You designed it? Seriously?" James laughed in delight. "You got anything else like that for sale?"

"Lots, but if you're interested you need to talk to me." Another boy of around the same age, well-dressed and dangerous-looking, smiled and held out his hand. "Stingy Hughes. Shaun, really, but no-one calls me that apart from my mother. Pixel and I co-own Six Thousand Ideas. I'm the money man, Pixel's the genius. And this is - "

"Trixie Bowman," said the girl on his arm, holding out a small, slim hand. She was a knock-out, a dainty, sexy little minx with a dirty look in her eye, her thick black hair in an artful pile on top of her head. She was wearing a demure violet dress and dainty black slippers. Looking her up and down approvingly, he saw that she was also wearing a large diamond on her engagement finger.

_They really do settle down young around here_, he thought. _How weird._

"James Thornton," he said gravely, shaking hands. Stingy turned pale.

"Not - you're not by any chance James Thornton, the founder of Prickly Tree, are you?" he asked tentatively.

"'fraid so," said James cheerfully. Then he looked again at the young man. "Oh, wait - now I know who _you_ are…you're _that_ Six Thousand Ideas? The people who did the toaster? And the intelligent remote control? The ones who scare the shit out of Justyn Richards at Koduji? And you're from around here too?" He began to laugh. "And I thought I was moving to a small town…"

"You have moved to a small town," said Trixie, laughing with him. "We just have an exceptionally high-quality gene pool."

"And what do you do?" he asked her, smiling at her. She really was utterly delicious, and it was a damn shame that the Hughes boy had such a possessive hand around her waist. The boy saw him looking, and the hand tightened its grip. He was interested to see that Trixie wriggled gently free, under the guise of adjusting the strap of her shoe, and even more interested to see that underneath the dress she was wearing a dark red silk basque.

"Oh, I'm afraid I'm the bright under-achiever of the group," she said demurely. "I'm at Harvard, majoring in Philosophy, which, as Stingy likes to remind me, means I spend all day thinking about thinking."

_And all night making love_? wondered James idly, as she glanced flirtatiously up at him through sooty black lashes. _Hmmm. Might not be so hard to live in a small town after all…_

"Pinkie!" Trixie waved at someone over his shoulder. "Over here!" He looked around and felt his heart beat faster when he saw the glorious ballerina who had danced to _Le Cygne_. She had changed into a simple white frock embroidered with daisies, and her beautiful hair hung nearly to her waist.

"That was pretty damn good, Pinkie," said Trixie, linking arms and drawing her over to the group.

"Weren't they all amazing?" said the girl, smiling. "I'm so proud of them."

"Stephanie, I actually think she meant _you_ were pretty damn good," said Stingy, giving her a kiss on the cheek. Stephanie blushed and rolled her eyes.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed it, but I think everyone was more interested in watching their children," she said.

"Well, I wasn't," said James, seeing his opportunity. "I'm James Thornton, by the way. The town's newest resident, and your newest fan. Your pupils were very good, but you were absolutely exceptional. That was the most beautiful performance I've seen on the stage for many years." He took her hand, holding it a fraction too long because it felt so soft and cool in his own, and was amused to see her blushing.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mr Thornton…I'm Stephanie Milford."

"You're all very polite around here," he observed to the group at large. "Unless you think I'm just far too old to be called by my first name."

"You can blame Stephanie's uncle if you like," said Trixie. "He's so sweet and old-fashioned, it just kind of rubs off on everyone else. But if it makes you feel younger, I'll happily call you James if you like." She smiled at him.

"Well, please do," he said, twinkling down at her. He could see from the look in her eyes that she found him attractive, and from the way Shaun - Stingy - was watching him that he didn't like it. To defuse the tension, he said, "And who is your Uncle, Stephanie? Can I meet the man who taught the youth of Lazytown some respect for their elders?"

"Oh, you've probably already met him," said Stingy, rather shortly. "He's the Mayor."

"The Mayor? Really? So that's how you came to live in Lazytown, then?"

"Since I was eight years old," said Stephanie, smiling.

_And there's your connection, the line of power, right there. This group of young people, they're the centre of it all. A financial genius, a technological wizard, and these two incredible girls…a bright, gorgeous, sexy little vixen and a beautiful white swan. And Stephanie, she's truly the centre of it…the niece of the Mayor, and the wife of the Hero. These are the people who will run this town in the future, I can see it...need to work out how to co-exist with them, I'm here for the long game…_

There was a sudden scream from under the trees. One of the power-cables that fed the fairy-lights, dislodged by the climbing boys grabbing for paper flowers, suddenly fell down from the trees, sparking and fizzing and leaping around. Everyone shot out of the way apart from Molly, who wasn't quick enough and found herself trapped against the tree-trunk, white-faced and immobile as the cable flapped to and fro, sending up showers of sparks wherever it touched.

"Keep still!" everyone shouted at her. She stood pressed flat against the tree, frozen with fear, watching the cable as if it was a snake.

"Holy fuck," said James, all thoughts of Trixie and Stephanie forgotten, pushing people out of the way to get to his daughter. Before he had covered even half the distance, he was aware of a blur of blue as someone shot past him, and a figure back-flipped elegantly around the juddering, fizzing cable, picked up Molly and carried her to safety. In what looked like an extension of the same movement, he leapt straight upwards, swung around a low-hanging branch to get even higher up, and swiftly unplugged the other end of the cable from the socket hidden among the leaves. It fell harmlessly to the ground.

_Fuck me, the man's got reflexes like - Jesus, he's so _fast_ - and it's not just the speed, either, the power he's got in those muscles - and it was even graceful into the bargain - I've never seen anything like it. That was just...you hear the rumours, but there's hearing it and then there's actually seeing it for yourself - _James shook his head in amazement as he ran over to hug his daughter.

"Are you all right?" Sportacus was asking her, a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Oh, _yes_, I'm fine, absolutely great…_thank_ you…" Molly looked dazzled, love-struck, and James looked sharply at Sportacus to see his reaction, but he could see at once that in the other man's eyes, his nubile and budding young daughter might as well have been six years old.

"Glad to hear it…I'll see you later, okay?" He smiled at her, patted her shoulder and turned away, leaving her staring and starry-eyed, and found James standing right behind him.

"That was just incredible," said James quietly.

Sportacus smiled and shrugged dismissively.

"It's what I do, Mr Thornton."

"Well, I want to thank you anyway…she could have died, she really could. I could see that. I owe you one, seriously I do."

"Really, there's absolutely no need. But you're extremely welcome." He smiled politely.

"Look - " James hesitated for a second, but he had never shied away from awkward conversations and wasn't about to start now. "There's something else I want to say as well. I guess I offended you earlier, I'm truly sorry. I didn't realise she was your wife. If I'd known, I wouldn't have - well, I've got to be honest, I guess I'd still have been looking, but I'd at least have had the decency to keep my opinions to myself."

"Mr Thornton, I don't think I would be much of a husband - or much of a man, for that matter - if I got angry every time someone looked in that way at my extremely beautiful wife. Truly, it's forgotten."

"For the last time, you - you terminally polite lunatic, will you please call me_ James_!"

Sportacus looked at him for a long, thoughtful time.

"No, I really don't think so," he said at last. "I don't think that would be…appropriate. And by the way, her hair is that colour naturally. Enjoy the rest of your evening."


	3. Chapter 3 Dancing in the Moonlight

**Chapter Three - Dancing in the Moonlight**

Almost everyone had left. Emma was yawning and rubbing her eyes, still sitting on her uncle's knee, but Stephanie found herself lingering on the stage behind the drawn curtains. It had been so long since she had danced for an audience; not, now she thought about it, since she had first been pregnant with Emma. She thought about the man she had met - James Thornton - the extravagant praise he had heaped on her dancing, the wicked glint in his eyes, and the frankly sensual admiration she had seen on his face as he held her hand between his own.

Had it been her imagination, or had he lightly caressed her wrist with the ball of his thumb, a swift swirling motion that had sent her blood eddying through her body and washing up into her face? "Your husband is a very, very lucky man to have such a lovely young girl in his life," he had murmured to her when they parted, and the way he looked at her had seemed to burn into her bones, leaving her unsettled and restless.

On an impulse, she went to the music deck and cued up a track; not the magical Saint-Saens she had danced to earlier, but the slow, sexy, achingly beautiful opening of Gershwin's _Rhapsody in Blue_. The clarinet solo fluttered, trilled and then climbed up and up in a glorious sliding crescendo, and Stephanie danced barefoot across the stage, letting the music guide her, feeling its pull and rhythm in every part of her body.

She only knew her husband was with her when she felt his hands on her waist, lifting her effortlessly as the music soared. They danced together without speaking for a while, giving in to the magic of Gershwin and the warm June evening.

"You were amazing," he finally murmured against her ear as he held her close to him. "Just completely unbelievable."

"You're biased," she told him, smiling.

"Of course I am. But I think everyone else who saw you felt the same." As always, his totally sincere compliment was faintly tinged with pain. She knew that he had never truly forgiven himself for her decision to end her dancing career before it had begun, to marry him and have his child and spend her life in Lazytown.

_How can I make you see? _she thought._ How can I make you understand that what I have now is everything I've ever wanted? How can you feel guilty when I know you've left your home for me, tied yourself to a place where you can never speak your own language, never be like everyone else, a place where people will always look at you as someone strange and different, where you'll always have to be the hero as the price of your acceptance?_

He hesitated for a moment, then plunged. "Stephanie… did you meet that man who has just moved here with his daughter?"

"You mean James Thornton? Yes, I met him, we all did. He seemed very taken with Trixie."

"I think he was far more taken with you," he replied, looking at her searchingly. Under his gaze she found herself blushing deeply.

"Oh, no, I don't think so…"

"Oh, yes," he insisted gently, smiling to take away the sting. "Yes, sweetheart, I really do think so."

"Do you mind?"

"Do I mind that he sees how utterly lovely you are? Of course not. But…" There was a look of distaste in his face that she had never seen there before.

"You really don't like him, do you?" she asked in astonishment. He looked away from her for a brief, embarrassed moment. "Why not?"

"I - Stephanie, I just don't know. There's just something about him…sweetheart, have you ever met someone and known within seconds of meeting them that they were - on the opposing side to you? Not because of anything they've done, or anything they say to you. But just because of who they are. Well, that was how I felt when I first met him. He…concerns me. I don't trust him."

She had never in her life heard him speak like this about anyone, and was glad that he had not been there to watch when this sinfully attractive newcomer had taken her hand and complimented her performance; glad that he had not seen the flush that covered her cheeks as he held her hand, intimately and extremely knowingly. She rested her head against her husband's shoulder and melted into his embrace.

_Is it because of the way he looked at her?_ he thought despairingly to himself as he cradled her against him. _Is it simply because he wants her in his bed - because he told me so himself, openly and frankly, as if it was the most natural thing in the world? _Any man with blood in his veins, _he said to me, and I know that he's right, I have always known that you're beautiful enough for any man to desire you; but he's the first one who has looked at you that way who managed to make you blush…Oh, Stephanie, darling Stephanie, you're the one thing in my life I have ever wanted just for me, my one completely selfish desire…am I, after all, simply that utterly human cliché, the jealous husband who wants to keep a tight hold over his wife? But the first time we met, he and I, before he ever laid eyes on you, we looked at each other and we knew…_

_Or is it only because he is so completely different from me?_

--

"So, did you enjoy your evening?"

"Not particularly," said Stingy shortly, as he opened the car door for her so she could climb in.

"Oh, don't be so miserable. I thought they were all pretty good. And that Saint-Saens piece at the end - "

"Oh, Stephanie was wonderful," said Stingy without looking at her. "Completely beautiful, in every possible way. She's lovely enough for anyone to fall in love with, Trixie, or even just to lust after. But fortunately for Sportacus…even though I'm sure there were plenty of men who were absolutely longing to get their hands on her…he knows that _she_ wouldn't even look at another man."

Trixie stared at him.

"So it's like that, is it?" she said at last, and smiled mockingly. "Okay, then, you want to have a fight with me about this evening? Fine. Let's go. I'm ready. Give me your best shot, Stingy boy."

--

Ziggy took Marie's hand and led her in what he hoped was a masterful fashion to shadows beneath the old treehouse. Leaning her gently up against the tree-trunk, he began to kiss her.

"Are you sure this is safe?" she murmured, glancing upwards into the branches where the tree-house was creaking and swaying in the soft breeze.

"It's been there for years," said Ziggy vaguely, preoccupied with the tantalising gap between Marie's short white t-shirt and the waistband of her black, tightly-fitting jeans. His hand caressed the exposed band of smooth, wheat-coloured skin and he caught his breath in bliss.

"Yeah, that was really my point too," she said. "Ziggy, that's kind of tickly…"

"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely, barely able to breathe.

"Would you like me to show you what to do?" She smiled and took his hand in hers, guiding it from where it rested against her backbone, around her waist to her navel…she let go of his hand for a brief moment to slip a strap down her golden-skinned shoulder, and then she recaptured it and moved it upwards, upwards, until he felt the electric soft skin of her breast under his hand and her nipple under his thumb, and he said without thinking, "Wow, Marie, that's just - "

"Shhh," she whispered, laughing. (_She's always laughing at me_! he thought again.) "You'll spoil the moment."

--

"I suppose we should go," said Milford, feeling the nagging ache in his left arm beginning to spread. "Look, Emma's nearly asleep on my knee

Oh, let them have a moment alone," said Bessie indulgently.

He smiled at her and waiting for the pain to dissipate. It always did, he told himself firmly. Eventually the hand that was squeezing gently and inexorably at his heart would loose its iron hold and let him breathe freely again.

--

He was too angry to drive; he pulled the car over into a lay-by so they could scream and snarl at each other properly.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about. It was completely disgusting."

"What was completely disgusting?" She looked at him coolly, her face poker-straight, her chin raised. As always when they fought, he was distracted by her dainty, ravishing little face, her eyes so dark and exotic in her beautiful skin. He desperately wanted to take her in his arms and kiss the anger and resentment away, but he was afraid she would despise him as a pushover and an idiot if he did.

"The way he looked at you. That man. James Thornton."

"_Normal _men don't mind it when other people admire their girlfriends, Stingy."

"You're not my girlfriend, you're my fiancée, and - "

"Don't push your luck," she warned him.

"Oh, or else what? Or else you'll give me that ring back and walk out of my life? That one's getting a little bit old, Trixie. If that's all it means to you, then - then maybe - maybe you should - "

"Go on, say it," she taunted him. "You can't, can you? Because you're afraid I'll take you up on it."

He looked at her disgustedly. "Grow up."

"Grow up? _Me? _I'm sorry, am _I_ the one who nearly crashed the car just now because I can't take the thought of someone else looking at you and wanting you? Christ, Stingy, I'm surprised you didn't just whack it out right in front of him and pee up my leg, just to make sure he got the message."

"Unfortunately, I'm not sure I could have got close enough to you to do it," he said.

"Get a life, Othello. _I - shook - his - hand._ You are aware of the concept of the handshake, right? It's something people do when they meet each other for the first time?"

"The way he was staring at you, like he could see right through your clothes - "

"It bothers you that a damned attractive man admired me? You've got some serious self-esteem issues if you can't handle the fact that you're not the only man in the world who notices me."

"What bothers me is how you reacted!" he yelled. "The way you looked at him, the way you smiled at him - "

She shrugged.

"Face facts, Stingy. You're just jealous because he's even more well-heeled than you are."

"Oh, really? Well, okay then, here's a fact for you to face up to, Trixie. You were only flirting so openly with him because you knew he wasn't that keen once he saw the competition. _You're_ just jealous because he was far more interested in Stephanie than he was in you."

--

"Ziggy, I really don't think it's safe standing here," said Marie. "I can hear the tree-house creaking…"

"It's fine," he whispered, not listening, lost in sensation.

"Really, I can hear it - Ziggy, I think we need to move - mmm, that's lovely, though…and maybe…it might be nice if I put my hand…just _there_…"

Ziggy groaned out loud.

Above them a huge pile of timber began to fall through the branches towards them.

--

Milford tried to stand, but the hand clutched at his heart tighter and tighter. He could feel beads of sweat coming out on his forehead.

"Can you take Emma for me?" he gasped.

"Milford, dearest, what's wrong?" Automatically Bessie took Emma from his lap; she began to struggle and cry to get back to him. "Darling Milford, talk to me, please…"

Suddenly he was floating high above the ground, looking down at his own body, half-slumped on a chair, his hand clutching his chest. _Am I dying?_ he wondered. _Is this it? Well, it's been a good life, if it's my time to go then I can't say I haven't had a wonderful time…_beneath him, Bessie took out her mobile phone and dialled; he heard her frantically demanding an ambulance.

_I wonder where - ? _he thought, still floating. _Ah, there he is…_the world was growing dark around him, and he closed his eyes and drifted off into space.

--

They were dancing again, this time to Ella Fitzgerald singing _Summertime,_ when the crystal sent out its urgent summons. Taking her hand, he ran across the stage and leapt effortlessly down, holding his arms up to lift her down to the ground.

"Uncle Milford," Stephanie wailed when they found him. Her Aunt Bessie was sitting beside him, helplessly stroking his hand with tears rolling down her cheeks, as he struggled for each breath.

"I've called the ambulance," she said, sobbing and clutching Emma to her like a talisman. "It should be here soon - oh, Stephanie, _why _didn't he make that doctor's appointment, the silly,_ silly_ man…I'm going to give him such a telling-off when he's well again…"

Sportacus bent over Milford, taking his pulse.

"Mayor Meanswell? Mayor?" He shook him gently. "Milford, my dear old friend, can you hear me?"

Milford opened his eyes and found he was back in his body. The pain in his chest was still there, and he struggled against it, trying to get free.

"Keep still, please, you'll just make it worse. I think you're having a heart attack. Try and keep calm, the ambulance will be here soon. Listen, I can hear sirens…hold on, old friend." He took the other man's hand and held it comfortingly as they waited for the ambulance crew, and Bessie wailed on Stephanie's shoulder while Stephanie did her best to keep her calm, and on her other side Emma clung to her mother's hip like a monkey and buried her face in her long hair for comfort.

--

Ziggy glanced upwards and saw the treehouse collapsing down towards them.

"Oh, shit!" he yelled, grabbed Marie's hand and pulled her hastily to safety. They stood in the street and watched in amazement as the treehouse, along with what looked like half the tree it had spent all of its life in, slid to the ground in a slow, inexorable heap.

They stared at each other as they stood under the street-light, Marie hastily rearranging her clothes, Ziggy too completely freaked out to realise that his t-shirt was rucked up around his armpits and his jeans were unfastened.

"I remember the day we built that treehouse," he said at last. "Pixel drew the plans on his computer, and Trixie bossed us around like a madwoman. Sportacus helped us. It was absolutely great…"

Marie rolled her eyes.

"Ziggy, you might want to think about…" she glanced at his clothes and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, right," he said, distractedly refastening his belt. "Hey, how did you get that undone without me noticing - ?"

Marie smiled at him provocatively and wriggled her fingers.

"So," he said hopefully. "I think my parents are probably asleep by now…can we - can we go back to my place and - "

"No, Ziggy, I'm sorry, that's kind of ruined the mood for me," she said, laughing. "But we can go out again next Saturday if you like. Maybe we can go and…stand underneath the leaning tower of Pisa or something. Come on. Walk me home." She put her arm through his affectionately and led him down the street.

--

Trixie stared at him, and he felt a moment of completely unforgivable pleasure, knowing he had finally scored.

"That's unfair and ridiculous," she said at last. "I've never been jealous of Stephanie, and I'm certainly not about to start now."

"Oh, it's ridiculous, is it?" said Stingy maliciously, pressing home a rare victory. "So why have you gone so quiet all of a sudden?"

"You think you know me so goddamn well, Shaun Hughes, but you _don't_, do you hear me?"

"Don't you _ever _call me Shaun, you've called me Stingy all our lives, don't _ever_ do that to me. God, Trixie, that's a really shitty way to behave -"

"Why not? You're being completely horrible to me, I don't feel like calling you by your nickname - "

His phone rang and automatically he flipped it open.

"_What?"_ he screamed. "Oh, God, _Stephanie_, hello. Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to make you jump - what?…No way. Oh, Stephanie, I'm so sorry…Are you okay? Is he going to - ….Well, that's good, that's really good…No, honey, I promise you, they _wouldn't_ say that if it wasn't true, okay?…Yes, of course we will. No problem. Do you want us to put her to bed as well?…Don't be silly, we _love _Emma, of course we don't mind….we'll be there in twenty minutes. Hold on." He flipped the phone shut again.

"The Mayor's had a heart attack," he said, turning the key in the ignition. "Stephanie rang to ask if we'd mind going and collecting Emma from the hospital and taking her home so she can go to bed. She and Sportacus want to stay with her Uncle." He glanced across at her as he turned the car around. "Unless you want to stay here and shout at each other some more, of course."

"No, I think we're probably done," she said in a small voice.

He took her hand and kissed it.

--

They clattered into the emergency room and found the four of them standing in a huddle. Stephanie was comforting her Aunt as she shivered with fear and grief, and Sportacus was holding Emma, who was almost asleep on his shoulder.

"Thank you so much," said Stephanie gratefully, letting go of her aunt for a few moments to hug them both.

"No problem," said Stingy, patting her shoulder comfortingly. "Come on, she's almost asleep already. We'll take her straight home and get her off to bed." He took Emma into his arms. She stirred, said quite distinctly, "Uncle Milford - coming home," and then laid her head down on his shoulder and closed her eyes. Stingy patted her little bottom comfortingly and kissed her downy head."I don't know how long we're going to be…" said Stephanie hesitantly.

"Pinkie, it's _okay_," said Trixie. "We'll stay at your place as long as it takes."

"I feel absolutely terrible, taking over your evening like this and asking you to look after my daughter."

"Don't worry about it. We were only having a huge poisonous row anyway," said Trixie affectionately. "We'll see you when we get home, all right?"

--

Several hours passed. Milford had been whisked off into the bowels of the hospital, drifting in and out of consciousness, a mask over his face and electrodes plastered all over his bare chest. At last, the doctor who had met them when the ambulance crew unloaded the gurney at the doors of the hospital came across the hall to speak to them.

"Is he going to live?" Bessie's face was chalk-white as she clutched at the doctor's coat with hands like claws.

"Well, it's early days, so I can't say for certain, but I'm pretty sure he'll make it. He's been very lucky…it could have been a lot worse." The doctor rubbed his red, tired eyes. "The best thing for you to do now is to go home and get some rest, all right? Come back in the morning.""Can I see him? Just for a minute?"

He hesitated for a moment, but couldn't resist the pleading look in her eyes.

"All right," he said wearily. "Just for a few minutes. Come with me." He led them through a bewildering maze of corridors to a pair of double doors with a sign over them reading _Cardiac Ward_.

"Now, listen to me. Don't go in there and get all upset, okay?" said the doctor, pausing with his hand on the door and looking at Bessie sternly. "He needs to stay very peaceful and calm. I ought to warn you, he's quite heavily sedated and he's wired up to a lot of monitors. Room six, just through these doors. No longer than five minutes…" His pager went off and he glanced at it, swore wearily under his breath and set off down the corridor.

Bessie looked at the doors and swallowed.

"Oh, Stephanie," she quavered. "I don't know if I can - I want to know he's all right, but I don't know if I can go in there without crying - " she looked at her niece pleadingly. Stephanie nodded resolutely, squared her shoulders and put her hand on the door handle, but Sportacus moved her gently out of the way.

"Sweetheart, let me do this for you," he said softly, and closed the door behind him.

Milford lay quietly in the bed, surrounded by the incessant _beep_ of monitors and the rustle of nurses in crisp blue uniforms.

"Sportacus, is that you?" he said sleepily, through the narcotic haze.

"Yes, it's me. How are you feeling?"

"Am I going to die?" he asked. "They won't tell me…I'm so glad it's you here…I know you won't…lie to me…"

"Not yet, old friend…not yet." He took the limp hand that lay outside the sheet and clasped it reassuringly

Milford swallowed back tears.

"I don't mind…for me," he said with difficulty. "It's just for…for my girls…they need me…" He took a deep breath. "If I do go…if they're wrong...you will…take care of them, won't you? Bessie and…and Stephanie…you'll see that they're safe…don't let them…don't let the town take Stephanie…don't let them make her replace me…don't let them make her run Lazytown…find someone else…"

"I will. I promise."

"Thank you…thank you…I know you always…keep your promises…" his eyes closed as the drugs took him down into a deep, dreamless sleep.

--

They tucked Emma up in her bed and lingered over her as she slept, sucking fiercely on the side of one hand.

"She's beautiful," said Stingy, smiling and stroking her cheek.

"You're right," said Trixie suddenly.

"I know I am. She's absolutely perfect." He looked at her seriously. "You know, Trixie, I'd absolutely love it if - "

"No, I meant about - earlier. You were right, and I'm sorry. I _was _flirting with him, and it _was _because I was jealous. I'm so sorry. It was completely unforgivable."

Stingy looked at her in amazement.

"I just - sometimes I miss - it's just hard to get used to being part of a couple, you know? Because, since I was about fourteen, I've just been used to - knowing they were all looking at me, and wanting me, and - and now they just see your girl, I'm off limits, and they don't even consider me any more - "

"Well, for what it's worth, _he _definitely considered you," said Stingy, putting his arms around her.

"I know." She paused. "But you're right. He definitely liked Stephanie more, and that really burned me up. It's completely pathetic, I know, but - if I can't be honest with you - "

"Well, so what? There's no accounting for taste. He's not going to get anywhere with either of you, is he?"

--

"Are you sure you're all right, Aunt Bessie?" asked Stephanie for what seemed like the millionth time that night.

"I'm fine, Stephanie," said Bessie, wiping her eyes and giving her niece a watery smile. "Thank you so much for letting me stay. I just couldn't face that empty house - " her voice broke, and she put her arms around Stephanie and sobbed on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said at last. "If it's all right by you I think I'll go to bed…would you mind if I went and gave Emma a little goodnight kiss?"

"Of course you can," said Stephanie, smiling through her exhaustion. "Try and get some sleep, okay? The bed in the spare room's made up, and there are clean towels in the cupboard in the bathroom. I'll see you in the morning."

She went slowly down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mechanically, not really thinking about what she was doing, she looked in the cupboard under the sink and found a bucket. She filled it with hot water, added cleaner, found a brush and began to scrub the kitchen floor, taking her time, beginning at the back door and working her way slowly across the slate tiles.

"Sweetheart, what on _earth_ are you doing?" He knelt beside her, taking the brush firmly out of her hands.

She looked at him blankly.

"I just want to do something - I want to keep busy - "

"You've been busy all evening looking after your aunt. Now it's time to stop and let it go. You've been strong for her. But you don't need to be strong for me. Leave this now, sweetheart. Time to let go."

--

Ziggy saw Marie to her front door, then, lonely and wistful, wandered home.

_How do __I get her to take me seriously?_ he thought, yet again. _I want her to look at me the way Trixie looks at Stingy…or the way Stephanie looks at Sportacus…_

Suddenly he realised what had been bothering him.

"Oh, wow!" he shouted out loud. "Oh my God! That's it! He didn't show up! He didn't come and save us! He didn't need to - _I _did it - I saved us - oh, wow - " he did a little dance under the streetlight, oblivious to the amazed stare of the old lady whose house he was standing outside. "I did it all by myself! I'm a hero!"

_That's it,_ he thought, as he set off home at a dead run. _That's how I'm going to make her fall in love with me._

--

More than anything else, she wanted oblivion, to forget all about this strange, endless night. Too much had happened in too short a space of time. The joy of being on stage again; that wickedly attractive man who had looked at her in the way that made her squirm inside; the shock of her Uncle's heart attack; the endless hours in the hospital. She wanted - no, she needed - his hands on her body, his mouth on hers, the rapture and release of making love.

If he was surprised by her urgency and insistence as she pressed her body desperately against his, he didn't show it. Without the slightest hesitation he peeled her out of her dainty white dress with the daisies and loved her right there on the floor, covering her with kisses, his fingers stroking and teasing her dainty pink nipples. His hands on her breasts were exquisite, piercing, making her shiver and melt away inside, but she couldn't wait, she needed him to keep going, to give her more. She moaned imploringly and, taking his hand in hers, guided it down, needing his touch on her body more than she had ever needed anything in her life.

She quivered with longing as his hands lingered lovingly between her thighs, and groaned in frustration when he finally had to pause in his expertly tender caresses so that he could swiftly undress and lie down beside her. The slate floor beneath them was cold, but neither of them felt it as they lay pressed against each other, striving for silence, aching for each other.

"Right here? Are you sure?" he whispered to her at last, stroking her face.

Instead of answering, she pulled him fiercely on top of her and inside her. She heard him murmur in pleasure, deep in his throat, and knew he was fighting hard to stay silent, to avoid disturbing her aunt as she slept upstairs above them. For long minutes they lay locked together, blissfully still, simply relishing their closeness. Then finally he began to move inside her, slowly and sweetly at first and then more quickly, more urgently, and she had to claw at his back and whimper as he loved her just the way she needed, just as hard and rough and simple and direct as she needed, taking away the horror of the evening at the hospital and the dread that her uncle would die and the fear that she would not be strong enough to help her aunt survive whatever was coming, and finally she simply couldn't keep silent any longer, and she heard herself scream aloud with the bliss of release, her mind washed clean by a wave of pleasure that flooded her body from head to toes, and as the feeling finally faded again she was aware that he had his hand pressed firmly over her mouth.

"Sweetheart," he whispered at last, and she could hear the amusement in his voice. "It's simply unbelievable to be able to make you feel that good, I can't tell you what an amazing feeling it is for me, but…" he kissed her again. "Maybe we should take this outside to the garden, at least, or even the airship. I really don't think this is something your Aunt needs to see us doing, do you?"

--

"You sure you're all right, Milly-Molly-Mandy?" He hesitated at her bedroom door, wondering whether to go in.

"Dad, I'm _fine_. I'm going to bed. I'll see you in the morning, okay?"

"Do I get a kiss?"

He heard her sigh heavily, but her feet padded across the floor and then she was in his arms in her dainty white nightdress, pulling his head down to her so she could kiss his cheek.

"You need a shave," she told him, yawning.

"Always," he replied, smiling a little. "Sweet dreams."

Downstairs in the living-room, he poured himself a glass of fifty-year-old Glenfiddich and reviewed the evening.

_Robbie first,_ he thought to himself. _What a strange guy. Did he really think I'd be shocked that he's gay? If he doesn't want people to know, then not French-kissing that cute little bit of fluff of his in public would be a good place to start. But still…definitely a possible ally. He reminds me of myself…if I need to hustle a little, to jockey for position, rearrange things in my favour, I reckon I could persuade him to help out…definitely a kindred spirit._

_Then…those two guys! What are the odds of the founders of Six Thousand Ideas being right here under my nose? Any chance of bringing them on board…? Prickly Tree can always use new talent, and the word is they're the ones to watch for the future. No harm in trying, anyway…wonder what else they've got in the pipeline? Love to get a look inside their files._

_That girl of Stingy's, Trixie. Now, she's a bit too much for him to handle, I think. Must be as bright as hell if she's made it to Harvard. Brains and beauty, and as hot and sexy as they come. He'll never hold onto her; she's too sharp and sparky to settle for being Mrs Hughes the trophy wife, and too young to settle down….damn, I envy him… nothing like the feel of young flesh under your hands…_

_And Stephanie. Oh, now, she's the one I'd choose if I had the choice….I wonder if I do? Would she…? She blushed like a rose when she realised I was looking at her. How the hell did he convince her to settle down so young? He must be scorchingly good between the sheets to convince a girl like that to give up everything for him. Never mind; even if I can't nail her, I can still get close to her. She's the centre of this town, the key to it all. The niece of the Mayor…oh. Oh. OH. I wonder. He did say, didn't he, that he was a relative of the current owner…? Could it be…? Mustn't jump to conclusions…_

_And finally, Sportacus…we recognised each other on sight, didn't we? Even though you didn't really know what you were looking at. God damn, I wish I'd realised she was your wife before I made that stupid remark. But then again, it's actually okay in a weird sort of way, because that's the most important thing I've learned tonight. You've shown me that I don't need to worry about keeping you sweet…because even when I'd completely pissed you off, even when you wanted to kill me where I stood just for looking at her…even then, you didn't lay a finger on me. Even then, you still saved my daughter._

_You're a good man, Sportacus, a genuine hero, the real deal in a world where almost nothing is what it promises to be any more. And that means I can afford to take you for granted._


	4. Chapter 4 And The Living Is Easy

**Chapter Four - And the Living is Easy**

Beneath Lazytown, a pale, elegant hand moved the periscope into position and adjusted it carefully.

_I see everything, _thought Robbie dreamily to himself. _Let's see what's going on this afternoon in our pleasant little burg…and find out who or what might benefit from my attentions…_

_--_

Trixie, Stingy and Pixel were sitting in the park in the late afternoon sunshine, trying to summon up the enthusiasm to finish their assignments.

"How's it going?" asked Trixe, turning around and peeking over Stingy's shoulder.

"Dull," sighed Stingy, staring at his laptop and rubbing his eyes. "How about you?"

"The same. Vacation assignments suck."

"Yeah, well, you should try writing my dissertation," said Stingy, glowering at the screen.

"Want to swap over for a bit?"

He looked at her thoughtfully.

"I don't know. Maybe. What have you got?"

"Ten thousand words on the proposition, 'To Be, Is To Be Perceived'. I've done the first two thousand and I'm hitting the wall. How about you?"

"Thirty thousand on the limitations of the Perfect Market Model. I'm fourteen thousand words in, so all the arguments are there, they just need a bit of expansion."

"Hmmm. Okay, let's swap. Five thousand each?"

"That's not much of a trade," protested Stingy. "Fifty per cent of your assigment for one-sixth of mine? In fact, the more I think about it…that's completely rubbish. Is that your best offer?"

"Take it or leave it, boy. You know I never negotiate."

"Well…" he hesitated, and scrolled through his dissertation for a moment. "Okay. I'll take it." They swapped laptops and sat back down again, companionably back to back under the trees, supporting each other.

"Anyone want to swap with me?" asked Pixel, who was lying on his stomach next to them and typing ferociously.

"What have you got again?" asked Stingy.

"Parallel Implementation Of Finite Difference Equations."

They both snorted.

"Not a chance, mate," said Stingy. "Sorry."

"Aw, that's not fair," said Pixel, without rancour. "No-one _ever _wants to swap with me."

They all returned to their work, and an hour passed in total silence other than the rapid tapping of laptop keys.

"Okay, I'm done," said Stingy suddenly, passing Trixie's laptop back to her.

"You can't be. No-one can type that fast. Oh!…well, okay, maybe you can. But I bet it's all rubbish and I'll have to re-do it…" she began to scroll rapidly through the pages. "Oh, you infuriating _pig_, Stingy, that's just not fair! Here, since you're so good at it you can finish your own." She passed him his laptop back.

"How much have you done? _Fifteen hundred words_? You ungrateful wench. That is _completely_ unfair, I'll get you for this."

"Ah, but every one of those words is a gem, perfectly placed in an exquisitely tailored setting. You need to distinguish between the _artful_ and the merely _prolific…_"

"Right, that's it, I'm deleting what I did of yours." He snatched her laptop from her and ran across the field, with Trixie in hot pursuit.

"You - are - _not_ - deleting those words…you - you _owe _me…"

"Come on, Trixie, keep up. You're getting very unfit, you know. You used to be able to catch me every time."

"I don't want you - to drop it - "

"Drop what? Drop _this_?" he dangled her laptop from his hand.

"Don't you _dare_, that cost me a fortune - "

"I'll buy you a new one."

"I want _that_ one!"

"Have to catch me first." She grabbed for him, but he ducked out of the way. "Here I go," he continued mockingly, juggling the laptop as he scrolled frantically. "I'm deleting it, look at me pressing the delete key, it's happening, farewell beautiful words…"

She finally caught him and snatched it back.

"What did you do that for? - oh, thank God for that, it's all still there."

He laughed at the look on her face.

"I'm far too much of an anal retentive to actually delete it, you should know that by now. Just remember that when you graduate _magna cum laude _next year, a little bit of that will be - "

"Yours. I know."

--

Molly stood on the scales and sighed. There was no getting away from it; she was definitely three pounds heavier than she had been a year ago. Of course, she had grown an inch and a half taller, but, as her friend Blair had always said, _height is just Nature's way of spreading the weight out_. She wasn't having it. She was going to keep control. If she could just keep control, keep things the same as when -

_No_. She clamped down firmly on the thought. _Past. Forgotten. Gone._ She took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly, then bent over the basin and put her fingers down her throat, trying to retch as quietly as possible. _Goodbye lunch, goodbye three extra pounds…_

"Molly? Where are you, honey?" She heard her dad coming up the stairs and straightened up hastily, running the taps into the basin to wash away the evidence. He tapped at the bathroom door. "Milly-Molly-Mandy?"

"I'm here," she said guiltily, opening the door.

"Lizzie's here, waiting on the doorstep. She said something about you guys going swimming?"

"Yeah. At the lake nearby."

"And who else is going?"

"Oh, just the usual gang, you know."

She could see his mood change in front of her eyes.

"No, Molly, I don't know, because you didn't ask. I've told you before. You want to go out, you need to _ask_ me first and I will _tell_ you if it's okay. Now, who else is going, please?" His black eyes were fixed sternly on her face. She tried not to shrink under his gaze.

"Me, and Lizzie…"

"I knew that already, Molly. Who else?"

"Isabel. Beth."

"And who else? Don't try and lie to me, Molly, I can always tell." His pitiless black eyes, which struck terror into the hearts of Alpha males across the boardrooms of America, bored deep into her face. She shrivelled under his gaze.

"And…just some of the boys as well."

"No, Molly, I don't think so." He turned away.

--

"You know this is the last summer it'll be like this," said Stingy softly as they walked back towards the shelter of the trees.

Trixie shrugged.

"Life is change. Might as well get used to it."

"Yeah, I know. But once Pixel and I have turned in our dissertations, we'll graduate. You'll still have another year to go."

"Your grasp of elementary mathematics is amazing," she said, laughing.

"What I _mean_, Trix, is that you'll still be in Boston, and Pixel and I will be…" he paused.

"Where?" she prompted him.

"Well, that's what I wanted to ask you about. Where do _you_ want to live?"

She shrugged.

"Nothing wrong with my room in the dorm."

"Except that it's in Boston."

"So what? Stay in Boston too. You and Pixel can run Six Thousand Ideas from anywhere, you've always said so."

"I think Pixel really wants to move back here…to Lazytown. He misses his home. If I insist, he'll live in Boston, but I don't think that's really fair. I bully him far too much as it is."

She squinted at him suspiciously.

"You're not going to tell me I've got some competition for your affections, have you?"

"Oh, Trix, don't be ridiculous, you _know_ you come first with me. You always have. You always will. But I just…I need to know what you want. Okay? So I can plan."

"What I want…" she laughed uneasily. "What I want is to finish my essay."

"And then?"

"I don't know. Go and get a coke or something. Whatever comes next - I just don't know. Look, don't hound me, okay? There's plenty of time to decide."

"If I get us a place in Boston, will you come and live with me in it?" She hesitated. "I'm not nagging you about getting married, Trixie, I'm really not. But - I just - oh, Trixie, _please_, move in with me at least. I love you so much." He took her hand.

"I know."

"And?" he asked gently.

Trixie looked down, feeling cornered.

"And I love you too. You know that, you don't need me to say it."

"I know it's pathetic, Trix, but actually I do…I still can't quite believe -" he broke off and swallowed. "So - will you move in with me? And think about maybe getting a place with me here as well, so Pixel can move back home?"

"What does Pixel have to do with where we live?" she asked evasively."He's my business partner. I can manage with him in a different place for about half of the time, but we need to be in the same geographic location for at least two or three days a week once we go full-time. Besides…you know how he is…he needs someone to keep an eye on him."

"I know," said Trixie, sighing. "Speaking of which…where is Pixel?"

--

Molly glared at her dad.

"Why not?"

"I don't like those boys who are always hanging around you. You can do better than them. They're all too young and - callow for you. And besides, I remember being their age…they're only after one thing."

_All men are only after one thing_, thought Molly to herself cynically. _All of them._

"Dad, _please_. I thought you wanted me to settle down here."

"Yes, I do. Because it's _safe_. And _safe_ doesn't include getting knocked up by some small-town yokel with his brain in his scrotum. You're special, Molly. You're too good to be wasting your time with just anyone."

"Dad, I am not going off with Lizzie so I can - so I can have sex with some boy I only met a few weeks ago!"

"I should damn well hope not," he snapped back at her. "And _don't _you use that vocabulary and tone of voice to _me_, young lady, because I _will not_ tolerate it. One more remark like that and you're grounded for a month. So, is there any particular boy out of this crowd of miscellaneous gentlemen you have your eye on?"

"No."

"Which one?"

"I said there wasn't anyone."

"And I can tell you're lying to me." He took her chin in his hand and felt her flinch. "Don't try and deceive me, Molly. I've been lied to by men who are worth millions of dollars a year, men whose entire future rested on being able to bullshit me. And none of them managed it. I can always tell. _Always._" He paused. "So. Who is it?"

She looked down.

"There's this one boy I kind of like. Kind of. Dante. He's kind of cute. I suppose. And he kind of likes me."

"Is he _kind of_ the tall one with the _kind of _dreadlocks?" he asked mockingly.

"Yes."He let go of her chin.

"I knew there was someone…you can't trust him, Molly. Remember that. All of them, all of those grubby little boys. _A__ll_ they're thinking about is getting your knickers off and - " She was scarlet with embarrassment. "Don't look so upset. You do know that I'm just trying to look out for you. Don't you?"

"I thought we were living here because it was safe," she said pleadingly. "Dad, please, it's just the gang going swimming. It's not exactly a frat party."

He rolled his eyes, and she knew she had won.

"Well…all right. _This_ time. Be back for dinner at eight, or there won't be a next time. And…next time, you check first, okay?"

"Okay." She kissed him, grabbed her bag with her costume and towel, and dashed down the stairs.

"Molly!" he thundered down the stairs after her. "Come here." He put his arms around her. "I'm sorry. I know I'm a long, long way from the perfect father. But…you do know that I love you, don't you? You know I'm trying? Every day, I'm trying to do my best for you?"

"I know," she said, resting her head on his chest for a moment.

"That's all right then. Off you go." He tugged her hair affectionately.

"Are you all right?" Lizzie asked curiously. "You look really pale."

"I'm fine," said Molly confidently.

--

"Where's he gone?" asked Stingy in total bafflement, looking all around. "His laptop's still here, and his rucksack. What the hell's going on?" Mechanically he picked up the bag of Doritos that Pixel had left on the ground. "Here, want one?"

Trixie dipped into the bag and ate one, then another, then another. She grimaced.

"These are vile. Why am I eating them?" She looked at Stingy. "Come to think of it, why are _you_ eating them? We both hate them."

"I'm here," said Pixel right by her elbow.

Trixie screamed in shock. Stingy turned around so fast he stepped on Pixel's foot.

"Ow," said Pixel reproachfully.

"Jesus Christ and all the angels," said Stingy, feeling his heart pound. "What did you _do_? What just happened?"

"Did you like it?" asked Pixel, smiling. Stingy glared at him and took a threatening step towards him. "Hey, don't look at me like that, I was just trying out my new invention. It's great, don't you think?" He took a small box out of his pocket and held it out to them.

They stared at him.

--

Robbie adjusted the periscope and watched in fascination. He had never seen anything like it. Pixel had been sitting there quietly on the grass the whole time, and they had just - just - _looked right through him_.

--

"Do you remember that time I invented the Invisibility Remote Control?" asked Pixel happily.

"Keep going," said Stingy slowly.

"Well, the big problem with it was, it only stopped people _seeing_ stuff. They could still feel it, and hear it, and walk into it, and fall over it. So I was thinking…maybe what I needed to do was invent something that makes people just _not notice_ things. _That's_ proper invisibility, isn't it?"

Trixie had got over her shock. She took the box from him and looked at it curiously.

"So what does this do?" she asked.

"It sort of…modifies people's brainwaves, so they just don't notice whoever's holding the box. You can't disappear while people are watching, it only works if they haven't already registered that you're there. I turned it on while we were all working, but it only clicked in when you walked away and then came back."

"So you were right there? All the time? And we never noticed?" asked Stingy faintly.

"Yep," said Pixel. "It's cool, isn't it?"

"It's…well…it's some kind of a thing," said Stingy. "And what about the Doritos…?"

"Well, I discovered that if you sort of quietly suggest actions to people who are in the zone of influence, you can get them to do stuff and they think it's their own idea," he said, beaming.

There was a long and thoughtful silence.

--

By long tradition, the girls changed in the privacy of the clearing behind the bushes, while the boys raced into their swimming shorts on the pebbly shoreline. Finally, they reconvened at the edge of the water and dared each other to go in. The boys ran in first, yelling and whooping and trying to push each other under; then the girls delicately tiptoed through water as soft and silky as their own skins, wincing with delight at the coolness against their warm bodies. Molly hung back shyly at the water's edge for a while, wrapped in her favourite red hoodie which she had put back on over the top of her costume.

"Come on in!" yelled Lizzie, waving. Molly smiled, but stayed where she was. Then suddenly Dante was beside her, dripping with wet and with beads of water shining in his hair like diamonds.

"Come on," he said, smiling. In a friendly, brotherly fashion he unwrapped her from her hoodie and let it fall into a heap on the stones. Tactfully, without looking at her, he took her hand and led her into the water.

--

"So, what do you think?" asked Pixel. "I've been working on it for weeks. Can we sell it?"

"Just how did you see this thing being used in the real world, Pixel?" asked Trixie at last.

"Well, you know those TV programmes where they do wind-ups on people?" asked Pixel. "I thought it might be good for them. Because the audience would be able to see the person using it the whole time, you see, it doesn't work remotely. You have to be actually in its field of influence."

"Entertainment," said Stingy dreamily to himself.

"Yeah. I thought the suggestion thing would be good for that, too. You know, like a stage hypnotist, only a bit different. So, what do you think?" Pixel looked at them pleadingly, his brown eyes wide and hopeful.

With sudden decision, Stingy took the box from his hand, threw it on the grass, and stamped on it fiercely. When the casing cracked, he picked it up and threw it in a long, graceful arc into the long grass of the nearby meadow. Then he turned to Pixel.

"Pixel Wright," he said sternly, wagging his finger in his friend's face. "Never. Ever. _Ever_. Make one of those - those _things_ - ever again. Don't you have any idea how dangerous - how _wrong_ - if it got into the hands of _anyone _who's a bit less sweet and well-intentioned than you - oh God, no, of course you don't, that's why you're my best friend and I love you and I put up with the laundry and the socks and the Dorito crumbs. But honestly, if you imagine that I am _ever_ going to take that accursed object to the marketplace…" he swallowed as another thought occurred to him. "Pixel, when did you actually _invent_ that thing? How long have you been - hiding yourself around the place?"

Pixel looked thoughtful.

"Erm…"

"Actually, you know what?" said Stingy hastily, "Don't tell me. I don't want to know. And I don't even want to _think _about what you've seen - " he looked at Trixie. The same awful thought had occurred to both of them: that afternoon when they had come home to Pixel and Stingy's bachelor pad in Boston and, for absolutely no reason and at Trixie's urgent insistence, made love on the sofa that she had previously refused to even sit on because it was old and filthy.

"What do you think, Trixie?" asked Pixel sadly, knowing when he was beaten.

"I think…I think you've had better ideas," said Trixie. "Besides, Stingy's broken it now."

"I could make another one - ?"

"_No_! Absolutely not. Promise me?"

"All right," sighed Pixel. "But I don't see what the problem is."

"I know you don't," said Trixie, patting his arm kindly.

"Now go and get us all a coke," ordered Stingy. "I need to talk to Trixie."

Pixel trundled off across the field.

They looked at each other, divided between horror and hilarity.

"Do you think he'd do better if he had a girlfriend?" asked Trixie at last.

"I don't know. He definitely needs _something _to…ground him a bit. A device that makes you invisible and lets you put thoughts into people's heads…and he thought it might come in handy for a _gameshow host_…" Stingy began to laugh. "You don't know anyone who wants to date a terminally naïve idiot-savant, do you?"

"No. Sorry. You don't think - you don't think he might have - auto-suggested us - that day we - "

"Oh my God, let's not talk about it." Stingy shuddered.

--

In the field, Robbie's hand closed victoriously around the cracked, glossy black box.

"It's just amazing what some people throw away," he murmured, tucking it carefully into his pocket.

--

After a bracing hour in the water, the gang returned to the shoreline and wrapped themselves in towels for a few minutes before lying down in the sunshine to finish drying out. Without anyone trying particularly hard to engineer it, they found themselves naturally pairing off into couples, discreetly scattered around the pebbled beach, tucked into the shade of bushes and trees and behind logs of driftwood. Someone had brought a radio, and slow blues music floated out to them through the warm air. Leaning against a huge fallen tree bleached white by years of sunshine and lake water, Molly wrapped herself back up in her red hoodie and fluffed her hair out around her face like a halo while Dante watched her lazily from beneath thick black eyelashes.

"Where's everyone gone?" she asked suddenly, looking around.

"Oh…you know." He smiled. "Just - somewhere quieter."

"Quieter than here?"

He rolled his eyes comically.

"Somewhere they can be alone," he said.

"And now we're alone too," she said, smiling.

Without speaking, he reached out and took her hand firmly in his, not stroking or kissing it, just holding it. She looked at him sideways from under her eyelashes. He was sweet and gentle and damned good looking. She thought about the firmness with which he had peeled her out of the red hoodie and led her into the water, his hands friendly and intimate but without intruding. She wondered what it would be like to feel him kiss her, and was surprised to discover that she liked the idea.

He was watching her questioningly, but made no move to touch her.

_Why not?_ she thought, and put her face up to his so he could kiss her. He took her face between his hands and held it softly as he brushed his lips over hers again and again. When he felt her begin to relax into his arms, he gathered her closer to him and gently parted her lips with his tongue, and slid the red hoodie off her shoulders.

"No." She tried to clutch it around her, but it was too late, he had seen what she had been trying to hide all afternoon; he took her arm in his hand and stroked it softly, his fingers exploring the fine tracery of horizontal scars that ran up the inside of her left arm.

"What happened?" he asked her gently, examining them with his sensitive fingers. "I thought I noticed these earlier when we were swimming, but you put your top back on so fast when we got out of the water I wasn't sure…"

She shrugged.

"Nothing. Just an accident. From a long time ago."

"What sort of accident? Did you fall through a window? It looks like glass cuts, or something."

Instead of answering, she threw one long leg over his lap and straddled him, kissing him deeply and fiercely.

"Hey," he said, half-laughing, half-shocked. "Slow down, there's no need to - oh - " he caught his breath as she took his left hand and laid it firmly over her breast. Then she kissed him again and felt his hand begin to caress her, and knew that for the moment at least, there would be no more awkward questions. She closed her eyes, trying to get back to the sweetness that had suffused her body when he had first kissed her…

"What the _fucking hell _do you think you're doing?" roared a voice, and she felt someone lift her bodily up in the air and set her gently down on the ground. "You disgusting animal. How _dare_ you touch her like that, you - "

"Dad!" wailed Molly, feeling as though she was going to die of shame. "What are you _doing_, how did you get here?"

Dante hastily got to his feet.

"What I am doing, young lady, is taking care of _you_, since you so clearly can't take care of yourself. And what I am _about _to do is to make sure that this presumptuous little _shit_ learns better than to come anywhere _near _you from now on - "

"Mr Thornton, sir, we really weren't doing anything wrong," said Dante, trying to keep his voice steady. "I don't know what you think you saw, but - "

The other man was white with anger. His fists were clenched and he took a threatening step towards Dante.

"When I'm interested in hearing your opinion, you nasty little pervert, don't worry, you'll know. And don't try and tell me what I _think_ I saw; I saw you mauling my _fifteen-year-old daughter_ - "

Suddenly Sportacus vaulted lightly over the tree-trunk and placed himself firmly in front of Dante.

"What's the problem?" he asked with a friendly smile.

"No problem," said James coolly. "You're just a little late, that's all. Molly was in trouble, but I've got it covered."

Sportacus looked at Molly, pale and shivering. She looked back at him pleadingly and shook her head.

"Mr Thornton, I'm actually not here to help Molly. I'm here to help Dante. Now there is obviously some misunderstanding here, because - "

"Just get out of my way and let me sort it out."

"No."

James paused.

"_What_ did you just say?"

"I said no. I have absolutely no intention of letting you go anywhere near Dante while you are this angry."

"If you don't move out of my way…"

"Yes?"

"Then so help me, town hero or not, I'll damn well make you move."

"You're going to have to, I'm afraid."

James stared at him. The other man stared back blandly.

"Dante," said Sportacus at last without taking his eyes off James, "I think perhaps you should go home now."

"I'm not leaving you and Molly here with him," said Dante, coming to stand beside him.

Sportacus gave him a quick, friendly smile that made his heart glow.

"Thank you," he said. "Really. But I truly think it will help everything calm down more quickly if you go. I'll take care of things here. I promise."

"I'll see you tomorrow, Molly," said Dante defiantly. James snorted loudly, but didn't look at him. He sauntered over to where his clothes lay by the side of the lake, gathered them up, and left with his head held high.

"And that's you taking care of my daughter, is it?" shouted James at last, rage filling him. "You fucking liberal freak. Letting him off the hook for - "

"Mr Thornton, are you absolutely sure this is a conversation you want to have in front of your daughter?" he asked gently.

"Oh, for fuck's _sake_…okay, you're right about that one. Molly, go and wait in the car."

"But _Dad_ - "

"You, young lady, are in quite enough trouble already. Go and wait in the car, it's parked just beyond the trees. If you even think about going after that boy, you'll lose all your privileges for the next three months. Got it?"

Molly followed silently in Dante's footsteps across the beach. They watched her until she was out of sight.

"There," said Sportacus mildly. "Now it's just you and me. So, go ahead and say whatever it was you wanted to say."

Instead of speaking, James balled his fingers up into a fist and hit out with the fearsome right hook that had got him through one of the toughest schools in the Bronx. He had nearly become a professional boxer, only deciding to tough it out and work his way through college when he realised he was making far more money off the gambling ring he ran at the gym than from prize money. He trained every day and knew he had lost little of his speed and none of his power. The punch would bring the other man to his knees when it connected…

…except that he was suddenly just not there.

"That really is not going to solve anything, Mr Thornton."

James spun furiously on his heel and found that Sportacus was standing behind him.

"Oh, I think it will," he said grimly, hitting out again. This time he was vaguely aware of the blur of blue as his opponent somersaulted effortlessly out of his way.

"You know, a good friend once told me that violence is the last bastion of the intellectually bankrupt."

"Are you _laughing _at me? Stand still and fight like a man, you - " Another punch, another blur of movement. With each one that failed to connect, he grew angrier.

"Where I'm from, Mr Thornton, fighting is just for the little boys."

"And how about fucking? Is that for the little boys too?" He threw another punch, knowing by now he was almost certainly never going to make contact, but needing to vent the white-hot rage within him. _The power he's got! _he thought, as once again Sportacus vaulted effortlessly over his head and out of the way. _How does he do that? - straight over my head from a standing start __-_

"Mr Thornton, I really think you're exaggerating."

"Yeah? Well, I think you didn't see what I saw."

"And what did you see? Did you see anyone being forced into something they didn't want? Did you see your daughter being bullied, or coerced, or pressured?" James stared at him angrily. "Or did you, perhaps, just see two young people doing what young people everywhere have been doing since the dawn of time?"

"You should have been there to stop it."

"My job is to help people in trouble."

"_She_ was in trouble.""Evidently not."

"_W__hat_?"

"Mr Thornton, I understand that you don't want to hear this, but I can assure you that your daughter was _not _in any kind of trouble. If she was, I would have known. And I would have stopped it."

James stared at him incredulously.

"I would have stopped it, Mr Thornton, just as I will stop _you _if you try to do anything else as completely unforgivable as what you were about to do to Dante just now. You have four inches, thirty years and forty pounds on him, and we both know you could have taken him apart. I won't let you do that. Not tonight, not ever. Not if I have to die to stop it. Do we understand each other?"

There was a long silence as they stared at each other, trying hard to read each other's expression. For a second, James's eyes were blank as he furiously calculated moves in his head. Then at last, in what looked like a completely spontaneous gesture, he threw his hands up in defeat.

"Oh, for God's sake. You know what? You're right. I'm an asshole." He paused. "Okay, that was your cue to tell me I'm not. I get it, you can't lie, so you're holding your tongue instead. Hmmm. Somehow that's actually much more insulting."

"I promise you I am _not _trying to insult you - "

"No need to try, you've achieved it without any effort at all. Well, I'll be honest, you have a point. But at least I'm not so much of an asshole that I don't know when I need to say that I'm sorry. It really was a good thing you showed up. Thank you." He flashed his most charming smile and held out his hand. "Come on. We need to live in this town together. Shake."

Sportacus took his hand and shook it.

"I told you before, Mr Thornton, you don't need to thank me…this is just what I do."

"Yeah, I know. You probably won't believe me, but you're actually the reason we moved here. You're just…not quite what I expected. You take some getting used to. I'm not used to having someone tell me when I'm out of line."

Sportacus smiled.

"Good evening, Mr Thornton."

--

Trixie lay still and quiet in the bed next to Stingy, feeling the warm weight of his arm lying over her waist, listening to his soft breathing.

_I feel trapped_, she admitted to herself. _I love him, God knows I do, but I don't know what to do…all these plans…why can't we just leave things as they are?_

_--_

Beneath the earth, Robbie folded the periscope away and sighed with contentment.

"Well, well, well," he said to himself. "The _things_ you see when you don't have your shotgun…he's an even better actor than me, much as it pains me to say it. Sportacus, have you finally met your match?"

He reached out idly for the copy of the _Lazytown Gazette_ he had stolen from a park bench that afternoon. His eyes widened as they rested on the headline.

LAZYTOWN MAYOR HAS HEART ATTACK  
Deputy Mayor sought to cover convalescence


	5. Chapter 5 Call Me Irresponsible

**Chapter Five - Call Me Irresponsible**

"Here's the bad news," the doctor said to the little group clustered around the bed, as he looked at them sternly over the top of the clipboard containing Milford's notes. "From the history you've given me, you've clearly been suffering from unstable _angina pectoris_ for months now, which for reasons of your own - and doubtless they seemed perfectly splendid to you - you've consistently chosen to ignore. Thanks to your delusion that you are somehow invincible, this otherwise perfectly manageable condition has progressed significantly, hence the large MI you suffered two days ago. You've taken some damage to your heart muscle, which means you're going to have to take things extremely easy for the next few months."

Bessie held Milford's hand tightly, her eyes fixed on the doctor's face. Sportacus and Stephanie stood quietly in the background, listening.

"Now, the good news: firstly, we got to you in time. Your heart's not critically damaged. The angioplasty did its job. There are plenty of medications you can take that should limit your risk of another event. _If you do what I tell you_. Clear?"

Milford nodded meekly.

"First thing. Take your medication. Every day. No misses. Second thing: lose some weight, take some exercise." He glanced over at Sportacus. "I'm assuming I can rely on you to help out on that front? Nothing too strenuous, I want gentle aerobic exercise only. Absolutely no resistance training, nothing that's going to raise his blood pressure."

"Leave it to me," said Sportacus, smiling.

"Third thing. You need to significantly reduce your workload for at least the next six months, ideally the next year. I know, I know. You think you're irreplaceable. Well, trust me, if you don't do what I'm telling you, everyone in this town will be finding out the hard way exactly how replaceable you are. Go part-time or something."

"But - " said Milford.

The doctor looked at him fiercely.

"That nurse who looked after you last night? The one who held your hand while we wired you up to the monitors, the one who kept your medication on course? She works part time. Hell, _I'm_ not here twenty-four hours a day, but you are, so who looks after you when I go home? If I can save your life on a part-time basis and hand over to someone else at the end of my shift, you can damn well run the town the same way. Take six months off. Then cut down drastically. Or you might die. Got it?"

"Yes," said Milford, completely cowed.

"Good. Okay, lifestyle. Watch your cholesterol. I'm prescribing you medication for it, but I expect you to do your bit too. The dietician will give you some advice." He turned to Stephanie and Sportacus. "Young man, young lady, cover your ears."

They looked at each other blankly, but did as they were told.

"And now we're not going to be embarrassing them with the news that people your age still do it - no sex for at least the next two months. After that, it's up to you. Just take it steady. No swinging from the chandeliers. Clear?"Bessie was scarlet with embarrassment.

"Doctor, your bedside manner is _terrible_," she said with dignity.

"Yes, I know; absolutely ghastly. All the patients complain. But at least I keep people alive." He smiled at her for the first time since he walked into the room. "It doesn't stop just because you reach fifty, you know. I've had patients in their eighties who made that the first question they asked. You can take your hands off your ears now," he added over his shoulder as he left the room. "And remember. No work for at least six months. I mean it."

--

"For God's sake," muttered Robbie to himself in the bathroom. "David!"

Yawning, David wandered into the doorway, his face soft and vulnerable with love and tiredness.

"What's the matter?"

"If you really _must_ borrow my toothbrush, which frankly is in itself a firing offence in most long-term relationships, _please_ have the decency to _rinse_ it properly before you put it back. Especially when it's - ahem - _my_ bodily fluids you're scrubbing away the taste of."

"I'm sorry," said David meekly. "It's late, I wasn't thinking. I won't do it again." He paused. "How did you - how did you know?"

Robbie shuddered.

"I don't even want to _think_ about it. Never mind discuss it."

"Well, I won't do it again, I promise."

"I should certainly hope not. You're utterly disgusting sometimes, you know that?"

"I said I was sorry." He turned away, but not before Robbie had caught the look on his face.

"Oh, for God's sake, will you learn to _stand up_ for yourself!" he shouted in exasperation. "It drives me _mad_! Don't let me get away with it. Shout back at me, tell me to stop being such a cantankerous old queen. Point out that I'm damn lucky to be even _getting _a blow-job off someone as beautiful as you. Tell me you'll leave me if I don't sharpen up my act and start appreciating you a little bit more. Make me _work _for it just for once, can't you?"

David sighed.

"I don't mind, not really, it's just that…oh, Robbie, _why_ do you always pick a fight with me just after we've - "

"Oh, my God. If you're about to suggest that I have a problem with tenderness, then please don't bother. I'm perfectly well aware of what my emotional limitations are, thank you very much. Furthermore, so should you be, given how we met. Men who pay for it aren't generally big on the whole intimacy aspect of sex, David."

"There's nothing you can tell _me _about what men who pay for it are looking for," said David defiantly. "But I thought…" he stopped.

"Don't believe everything you think." Robbie's face softened. "Come on. Come to bed. And please, _don't_ look at me with those puppy-dog eyes. I already have enough problems with my own self-esteem, without feeling like I'm responsible for yours as well." He put his arm roughly around David's shoulders.

With sudden anger David shook it off again.

"You know what really gets to me?" he said passionately. "I don't mind the bickering about toothbrushes, or the rows about the way I hang clothes up in the wardrobe. What really kills me is - "

Robbie raised his eyebrows.

"No, don't tell me, let me guess. You find me too charming? I'm just too far above you intellectually for you to feel comfortable? My dress sense puts yours to shame?"

"Don't try and make me laugh, Robbie… every day you clear off out of this house and go _somewhere_, I haven't got any idea where. Sometimes you're out all night."

Robbie shrugged.

"So? I warned you I like my own space."

"I've never asked you about it, you've never told me. All this time I've never said anything. But it really upsets me, Robbie. It's like you have this whole _life _I know nothing about. For all you know you're secretly - I don't know, fucking _married_, or something, and I'm just some sort of diversion to keep yourself amused. What? I'm being serious."

"You can't honestly think there are _two_ people on this planet stupid enough to put up with me. Can you? Well, yes, since you live with me, you probably could, but still…"

"Yeah, well, how am I supposed to know what to think? Tell me what you do, Robbie."

Robbie looked him up and down, then smiled at him with a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Little tip for you, David. It's hard to sound authoritative when you're totally naked."

"_What_?"

"Come to bed."

"We haven't finished talking."

"That's not a request, that's an order. I've just remembered why I like you so much."

"I really mean it, I want to talk about this…no, not now, Robbie, stop it, I'm not - not in the mood…I'm really pissed off about this…oh, God damn it, that's just not fair - no, don't stop, please don't stop, oh, Jesus, that's amazing, _please _keep going - "

Afterwards they lay in each other's arms in the darkness.

"David?" said Robbie at last.

"Mmmm?" He turned his head to look into the other man's face. "This isn't going to be about toothbrushes again, is it?"

"I am actually quite fond of you, you know."

"Yeah…I know. And I love you too - "

"Ugh, stop it. Did you see the paper this morning?"

"What?"

"The Mayor had that heart attack at last, overweight buffoon that he is. He's been brewing up for it for months. I've been wondering when it would catch up with him."

"Really? Poor Stephanie. He's not dead, is he?"

"Ha! Not yet. But they're looking for a Deputy. Under the Articles of Association the current Mayor can appoint a Deputy to take over his responsibilities, for a maximum period of one year. It'll be interesting to see who steps up to the plate."

"Who do you think it will be?"

"Well, I imagine that there'll be a shocking amount of soul-searching over at the Hughes love-nest tonight - "

--

"Trixie?" murmured Stingy into her hair.

"What?" she asked without opening her eyes.

"Have you thought any more about where we're going to live?"

"Oh, sweetie, do we have to talk about this now?"

"It's just that…" he sighed. He didn't even dare to tell her what he was considering, but as soon as he had seen the notice on the front of the paper, the thought had occurred to him. _I owe Lazytown something for all the years I've lived there. I owe Stephanie for all the times she's helped me._

"Just that what?" Her eyes were tightly closed.

"I'd like to know where I stand, that's all."

"Look." She sounded irritated. "I'm here in your bed right now, aren't I?"

"Yes. And Pixel's next door."

"So?"

"So…" he nibbled the back of her neck, just the way she liked it, and felt her shiver with pleasure. "Aren't you tired of having to keep the noise down?"

_I could do the Mayor's job in a couple of days a week if I worked hard at it. I've been running Six Thousand Ideas in my spare time anyway, a bit longer would be fine. I could do it. It could work._

"Oh, I don't know," she said, smiling. "It adds a certain - dimension, don't you think?"

"It's not just that, Trix. I want us to have a proper home, somewhere just for us. We can afford more or less anything we want, you've only got to say the word…"

_I could move back to Lazytown right now if I had to. If I could just be sure Trixie would come with me, for at least some of the time…if I knew it was safe to leave her on her own in Boston for most of the week…_

"Please don't rush me," she said softly, laying her hand on the side of his face. "I promise I will think about it, okay? But Stingy, we're only just in our twenties. We've got the rest of our lives. Haven't we?"

_If I could just be sure…but that's the thing. I'm not sure. Nothing's more important to me than you, Trixie. I'll lose everything else before I lose you._

_I'm so sorry, Stephanie, but I can't risk it. You'll have to find someone else._

--

" - but I think he'll decide that he can't take the risk. That girl of his is too much of a handful. She's a restless soul, David, and he's finding it hard enough to hold onto her as it is. No, he'll stay in Boston where he can keep an eye on her."

"So who else?" asked David, fascinated.

"Well, the logical choice is his niece, of course, but - "

--

"I'm not going to let her do it, Bessie."

"Milford, you heard what the doctor said. You need to _rest_. Stephanie is the legal owner, it's traditional - "

"Absolutely not. She was born to _dance_, Bessie, not to sit at a desk all day…that's just not who she is."

"She'd do it if you asked her."

"I know she would," he said tenderly, patting her hand. "She's a good, good girl. But I'm not going to ask her. No, we'll have to find someone else."

--

" - besides, he promised her father. There's one outside possibility - "

--

"Marie," said Ziggy, as they sat holding hands in the sunshine, "who do you think should be the Deputy Mayor?"

"Why?" she asked, laughing. "You're not thinking of applying, are you?"

"Would you be impressed if I did?"

"Would I be impressed if you sat behind a desk all day drinking tea and looking at paperwork and saying things like _Oh, my goodness_ when people kick footballs in through the window by mistake? Well, what do you think, Ziggy?"

--

"So how about you, Robbie?" asked David softly.

Robbie was silent for a long time, so long that David thought he had fallen asleep.

"It did occur to me," he said at last.

"And?"

"And I think I'm going to pass."

"Why?"

"Oh…all sorts of reasons. I'm not sure I could stand having to see that much of our dear good-hearted town hero, for one thing, and what with him being married to the owner, unfortunately I wouldn't be able to banish him. It's a lot of _very _dull work, for not much reward. But the biggest reason, David, is that I know who _really_ wants it, and he's not someone you'd want to get on the wrong side of. Do you know who I'm talking about?"

--

"So this is where Lazytowners come to drink, is it?" said James, stepping in through the door of the _Bierkeller_ bar in Smallville.

"First place you come to when you step off the monorail," said Robbie, raising his glass. "Buy you one?"

"Why not," said James, sitting down on the barrel next to him. "Lord, I haven't been in a place like this since I was seventeen years old." The bartender brought him a double bourbon on the rocks, and he took a large swallow. "So…seen the papers this morning?"

_Aha,_ thought Robbie.

"New monorail services start running next week? Basketball team won their match against the Metropolis Redshirts?"

"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about," said James, smiling - or, at least, showing his teeth.

"Play nicely," said Robbie. "Yes, I know what you're talking about. Our beloved civic leader's little cardiac episode, and the consequent…"

"…power vacuum."

"Indeed."

James drained his glass, watching Robbie all the while.

"Need some help, Robbie," he said at last.

"Naturally."

"You gonna help me?"

"I could probably be persuaded."

"What's it going to take?"

"Just tell me _why_!" said Robbie, laughing. "That's what I want! You're the CEO of Prickly Tree. Why the hell would you want to be, not even Mayor, but _Deputy_ Mayor - that's _filling in for Milford Meanswell_, by the way - of a small town in the middle of nowhere?"

"Were you born in Lazytown, by any chance?" asked James.

"Actually, yes."

"I thought so. You have no idea what Lazytown is, do you?"

"Do tell me."

"It's the rarest commodity in the country…a perfectly safe place to bring up your family."

"And with all your power and all your money, you still can't deliver that for dear little Molly without the help of the man in blue?" asked Robbie maliciously, then found himself flinching at the look James gave him.

"We've all got things we don't joke about," said James menacingly. "I understand your little catamite used to be for sale to the highest bidder?"

"He's twenty-one," said Robbie, nettled, and James smiled victoriously. "Fair enough. Point taken. But please, do tell me why you want it."

"Can't you guess?"

--

"You're talking about James Thornton," said David suddenly.

"Not quite as dumb as you look, are you? Yes. He wants it. And what he wants - _whatever_ he wants - he takes."

"Deputy Mayor in a small town like ours? The seventeenth richest man in America?" David laughed incredulously. "Are you sure?"

"Can the Ethiopian change his skin, David, or the leopard his spots? He's had power all of his life. It's in his nature to seek it out, and when he finds it, to use it for his own purposes. And, within the limits of this town, almost no-one has more power than the Mayor. And besides - " Robbie laughed suddenly.

"What?"

"Do you know what else he wants?"

"What?"

"Let me rephrase. Do you know _who_ else he wants? No? Well, you weren't standing next to him when he laid eyes on her. He wants Stephanie."

--

"I can guess one reason," said Robbie, smiling. "But you'll never get anywhere with that lovely little Barbie girl. I'm convinced of it."

"You reckon? Well, we'll see. But I take it that means I _am_ right about one thing…she is the current legal owner? And would therefore technically be my new boss?"

"That's right. How did you know?"

"I'm good at making connections. So what makes you think I'll never nail her?"

"Like I told you...she's a one-man woman."

"We'll see."

"Fifty bucks says you won't manage it."

"What are you going to accept as evidence?"

"Believe me, if you get anywhere with her, I'll know," said Robbie, smiling.

"Yeah, I bet you will," said James thoughtfully. "You're a useful man to know, Robbie. Okay, done. And while we're at it, will you sign my nomination form?"

"God, you are quick off the mark, aren't you? All right." He scribbled flamboyantly on the bottom of the paper.

"Want to lose another fifty bucks?" asked James, smiling.

"Why, what have you got in mind?"

"I bet I can find out what Bessie Meanswell wears in bed before nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

Robbie laughed.

"Now she's one woman you've _definitely _got no chance with. Done."

--

"But Stephanie's married to - "

"I know, and don't they both know it? Although something tells me that he and Sportacus were going to hate each other on sight anyway. But what interests me is that James Thornton might possibly, just possibly, be charming enough to talk her into it. And, since she _is _the legal owner of the town, and since it would give him all sorts of opportunities to spend time with her…" Robbie sighed and stretched.

"Robbie, how do you _know_ all this?" asked David in fascination.

"I'll tell you when you grow up."David sighed in frustration.

"I wish you'd just _let me in_," he said. "Why don't you trust me? Why won't you tell me what it is that you _do_ all day?"

"I thought you loved me," said Robbie reproachfully.

"I do, you _know_ I do - "

"But not enough to trust me?"

"That's not fair."

"Whoever said I was going to be fair? Now go to sleep."

--

Bessie knew she was alone in the house even before she opened her eyes. In the years they had been married, she had grown used to the comforting sounds of Milford waking in the bedroom next to her, going downstairs and making breakfast, and then coming back up to bring her a cup of tea to help her wake up. But for five mornings now, she had woken to eerie silence.

_I want a drink_, she thought to herself, _but I won't. I won't. I can't. He's depending on me now._

She knew she would have been welcome to stay with Stephanie, but the sight of the warm and loving intimacy between the couple was too much for her to bear. Not that they flaunted it; in fact, she suspected they went out of their way to hide it while she was staying with them. But still, that first desperate night, she had woken from uneasy sleep and heard Stephanie, muffled but still audible, screaming in abandonment and bliss, followed by the low murmur of laughter and the sound of the door opening as they stole outside. The sound had reminded her sharply that she herself was alone and without comfort, although the comfort she would have preferred would definitely have come out of a bottle.

She wrapped herself in her rosy pink silk dressing-gown and wandered downstairs to the kitchen. _Wish I had some gin. Well, I haven't got any, and what's more I won't have. Not going back to that again. One day at a time. One minute at a time. One second at a -_

There was a sharp knock at the door, and, expecting Stephanie, she opened it. She was shocked to find James Thornton, perfectly groomed and wearing a beautifully cut black linen suit, standing on her doorstep.

"Oh, my goodness," she said, clutching her wrapper around her. "Excuse me, I wasn't expecting - "

He looked her up and down appreciatively.

"Really, Mrs Meanswell…I promise I don't mind at all."

She felt herself blushing.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"I wanted to say how sorry I am to hear that your husband is ill…"

"Thank you," she said, swallowing the tears rising in her throat.

"…and also, to give you this." He held out a brown envelope. "It's my application for the position of Deputy Mayor. I think you'll find it's all in order. I'll look forward to hearing from you both."

"You're - _you're_ applying for the position of - "

"Absolutely. I feel it's my civic duty," he said, his eyes twinkling. "I understand Mayor Milford will be making his decision by the end of the week?"

"Yes, he will." Bessie was flustered. "I - I should tell you that it's not a salaried position - "

"Oh, I think I can survive."

"I didn't mean that - I just - "

"And I understand that the position will actually report to the owner, rather than to the Mayor?"

"Yes, that's right. I don't know if that makes a difference to your decision - "

"And that would be - " he hesitated, then decided to go for it. "That's Stephanie, isn't it?"

"Why, yes, actually it is, although while Milford's been Mayor naturally she's left almost all of it to him - "

"Naturally." He smiled victoriously. _Knew it. Robbie's a freak, but he knows what he's talking about. Two birds with one stone…_ "I hope your husband is doing well?"

"Yes. As well as we can expect, anyway. He should be out of hospital this afternoon, we think. But of course he'll have to take it very easy for a while - "

"Of course. I'm sure he'll make an excellent recovery."

"Thank you."

"It was very nice to see you again," he said, holding out his hand. Automatically she shook it, letting go of her wrapper so that it fluttered free in the breeze, exposing her peach silk pyjamas. "Good morning."

Bessie went back into her hallway and shut the door behind her. Her heart was racing.

_That is a very, very dangerous man,_ she thought to herself.

_--_

Robbie was waiting for him at the end of the street.

"So you actually did it," he said, laughing.

"Damn straight I did. Peach silk, under a pink silk dressing-gown."

"Remind me why?"

"I have my reasons."

"Going to tell me?"

"Nope. You're a bright man, Robbie, however much you like to pretend you're not. I reckon you know exactly what I'm after…anyway, I owe you a favour for nominating me, and you owe me fifty bucks for betting against me. And since I got to see Bessie Meanswell in her pyjamas, I can't help feeling I'm up on the deal in every way."

"Good God," said Robbie, shuddering.

"You should try and be more open-minded. She's kind of sexy."

Robbie rolled his eyes.

"Pussy hound."

"Uptight queer."

"And the horse you rode in on, James."

"Back atcha, Robert." They smiled at each other. "Want a drink?"

"At eight o'clock in the morning? I'm amazed I've even got a pulse, the last thing I need is alcohol. I only got up this early so I could come and make sure you really did it."

"I was actually thinking of coffee, but since you suggest it, I have a rather fine single malt in my cupboard at home."

"Maybe later. I've got some house calls to make." Robbie loped elegantly off down the street.

"Now, I wonder where he's going?" asked James thoughtfully.

--

"Come on, baby girl, we have to get ready," coaxed Stephanie.

Emma smiled brilliantly up at her mother.

"What's that?" she asked, holding up her shoe.

"That's your shoe, you need to put it on," said Stephanie patiently. "Come on, we're late."

"No," said Emma reproachfully, lying down on the floor.

"Oh, come on, _please_, I have to get you to the creche and then I have to get to my class and I've _still_ not got changed…"

"Answer door," said Emma, sitting up and pointing.

"What? No, baby, there's no-one at the door, see? It's open, anyway. Let's put your shoe on."

"NO!" Emma threw her shoe across the room.

"Oh, all right," said Stephanie. "I'll get changed first, then we'll sort the shoes out." She began to take off her t-shirt.

"Ah…I feel I should probably offer to help," said a voice by her ear, "but really, I think we both know children aren't really my forte."

Stephanie nearly jumped out of her skin. Robbie was standing right next to her, his hands in his pockets.

"How did you get there?" she asked him, feeling her heart pound. "How long have you been standing there - ?"

"I expect love and motherhood are softening your brain," said Robbie idly. "Actually, Barbie, I just wanted to warn you about something…James Thornton has applied for the position of Deputy Mayor." He smiled at the look on her face. "Mmm. Now _there's _an interesting thought, yes? Tell me, Barbie, what feelings are stirring within you at the prospect of having to work with him?"

She glared at him.

"I need to get changed."

"Feel free." He turned his back. "He's after you, you know. Not just you, of course - I think Stingy needs to watch out as well - but you're definitely at the top of his list. Are you blushing, by the way, Barbie?"

"You can turn around now," said Stephanie, sighing. He smiled victoriously when he saw the flush on her cheeks.

"Ah. But is it with embarrassment, or pleasure?" He took her hand and held it for a moment. "Don't give in to him, will you, Barbie? I'd hate to have my belief in the possibility of happy endings shattered. If you and he can't make it work - well, I think the rest of us can probably give up on the whole idea. Besides…I've got fifty bucks riding on you staying faithful."

"You're completely disgusting," she told him, flustered. "I would _never_ - "

"Oh, none of us ever _mean_ to cheat, Barbie. We're all of us faithful right up to the moment where we're not. And I signed his nomination papers, which makes me an accomplice. But that doesn't mean I trust him. I mean it, Barbie. Be careful. If you do find yourself compelled to try him on for size…well, just don't get caught."

--

James stood in the Mayoral office, amused and slightly embarrassed.

"Are you absolutely sure this is necessary?" he asked them.

"Yes," they all said in unison.

He looked around at the little group of people: Mayor Milford, pale and tired-looking; his wife standing protectively at his side; Sportacus, his face not showing a hint of the distaste James was sure he felt for what was about to happen; and Stephanie…and Stephanie, pink and white and silent and lovely.

"Okay. So…what do we do?"

"Can you tell me your full name?"

"James Michael Thornton. Why?"

"Stand here, please," said Sportacus calmly, moving him into the light. "Now…"

He saw Stephanie watching them both, and Sportacus give her a quick, reassuring smile. Then he sighed, took off his hat, and finally, gracefully and without any self-consciousness, knelt before James.

"Oh, look, are you sure we have to do this, really - can't we just shake hands or something - _what_?" His eyes widened as he caught sight of the pointed ears, normally concealed beneath the tightly-fitting blue hat. "Who the hell are you, anyway?"

"James Michael Thornton," said Sportacus, his head bowed. "As you have now been appointed acting Mayor of Lazytown, I offer you my service, my fidelity and my sworn loyalty, for as long as your appointment lasts or until my death. I formally declare that I am empowered to make this contract with you on behalf of the _Huldufolk_, under the original terms agreed with Liefur Johannson. Do you accept?"

"Do I _what_? What are you talking about? Seriously, tell me who you are."

"Do you accept?"

"_Tell me who you are_."

"You know who I am, James."

"But - you're not - "

"Not human? No, not exactly. But close enough. There are far more similarities between us than differences. Please, I need you to answer. Do you accept what is offered?"

"I - oh, well, why not, yes. I accept."

"Very well. Then it's done." He stood up again.

"Is that it? Don't we need to sign anything? What's so funny?"

"Nothing at all, Mr Thornton. Congratulations."

_Hurt to say it, didn't it?_ thought James, with some satisfaction.

Milford and Sportacus looked at each other.

"Well, old friend," said Sportacus, smiling. "It's very good to see you out of hospital. Tomorrow morning for that first training session, yes?"

Milford nodded. They shook hands solemnly.

"Stephanie - " Sportacus took her hand for a second, and James thought he was going to kiss her, but he simply held it close to his heart for a moment, looked at her seriously without speaking, and then left them.

"Can I take you all out to lunch?" asked James. "Stephanie?"

"Well - " she hesitated.

"Say yes, please." He was gambling on her innate good manners.

"Well, all right then, yes, thank you - that sounds lovely - "

"Milford? Bessie?"

"I think we need to go home so Milford can rest," said Bessie distractedly, not really listening, and James had to stop himself from clenching his fist in triumph.

"Looks like it's just you and me, then," he said, and smiled.


	6. Chapter 6 It Shouldn't Be Like That

**Chapter Six - It Shouldn't Be Like That, But…**

Despite her protests, James steered Stephanie into his car and drove her to a small, chic restaurant on the outskirts of Smallville. ("You might be able to celebrate without a glass of red wine," he told her sternly, "but I certainly can't. No arguing. We're going.") When they arrived, he ordered a bottle of Chianti and a fillet steak, blue, with a small green salad on the side. Stephanie ordered a chicken salad and tried not to shudder at the sight of the warm, semi-raw slab of meat on James's plate. He saw her looking and laughed.

"You've never eaten blue steak?" he asked her. "You should try it. Here." He offered her a forkful of steak.

"No, really." She tried not to recoil. "It's fine."

"No, it's not fine. You're_ young_, you should be open to all sorts of new experiences. Put down that forkful of greenery this minute and listen to me. A good blue steak is a wonderful thing. But it's only wonderful if it's the very best quality, so you should only order it in a restaurant where you know the meat is good. The chef brings it up to room temperature first. Then he seasons it, and finally he chars it on a very hot griddle for just a minute on each side. Scorched on the outside, and almost raw on the inside - it's the most wonderful contrast you can imagine. And then, when you bite into it…it simply melts in your mouth, like velvet. Really, young lady, I absolutely insist. You have to try it. Or I'm going to write you off as a coward." He smiled at her, and she was surprised to find herself warming to the challenge in his eyes.

"All right, then," she said, laughing a little. She held her hand out for the fork, but he gently shook his head.

"Open your mouth," he said softly. "Now…" she felt his fingers brush gently against her skin as he put the fork between her lips. "Good?"

It was, indeed, like velvet in her mouth, melting and soft. Now she was no longer looking at it, red and raw and charred, it was actually rather delicious…she looked at him and saw that he was watching her intently.

"I told you," he said, smiling. "You should always be open to new experiences, Stephanie. Now, is there any chance of me convincing you to join me in a glass of wine? No? Well, one thing at a time. Why don't you tell me about how you came to be living in Lazytown? Were you born here, too?"

"No - when I was little we lived in New York. But I've lived here since I was eight years old."

"So what made your parents move here?"

"Oh, I didn't move here with them. I lived with my Uncle." She looked at him half-defiantly, waiting for the surprise and the impertinent questions. Instead, he surprised her by laying a comforting hand over hers for a moment.

"I know how that feels," he said. "My mother palmed me off on my mother's parents when I was six. My dad was - well, to be totally honest, I guess he was a career criminal. He spent a lot of time inside. My mother did her best to keep us together, but it wasn't easy. Then, when my sister was twelve - " he paused, and she saw a look of pain flit briefly across his face. "Actually, this isn't really a very cheerful conversation. I'm sorry. Let's talk about something else."

"It's okay," said Stephanie, touched in spite of herself.

He smiled. "You're very kind, but I don't think so. Maybe another time. So, you came to Lazytown when you were eight. And never left?"

"Not really. I went home to see them for holidays sometimes, but they were…well, they travelled around a lot. They were trying to - "

"Yes?"

"Nothing." She had already said more than she meant to: she wasn't going to tell him that her parents were trying to run from the bad luck that followed them, pursuing them relentlessly until their final, pointless deaths on a Swiss mountain road early one summer.

He nodded understandingly.

"Another not very cheerful conversation? Fair enough; we all have our raw spots. Maybe you'll tell me another time." His eyes looking into her own were dark and intense. "So, tell me what makes this place so special. Tell me what I need to do to keep it that way while I'm covering for your Uncle."

"Well…" she wasn't sure where to start.

"Start by telling me about growing up here," he coaxed her. "Please. I want to get to know the town." _And to get to know you_, he thought to himself, half-surprised by how interested he was. _You're not just an unbelievably lovely face, are you?_

--

_Oh my God, he's just as beautiful as I remember,_ thought Molly, as they all lined up in the studio. Her head was light and spinning with excitement and lack of food. She had skipped breakfast, still determined to lose weight, but the butterflies in her stomach when she looked at him in his form-fitting blue tracksuit stopped her from feeling hungry.

Lizzie saw the look on her face and smiled understandingly.

"You do know this isn't just a chance to ogle him, don't you?" she whispered. "It's a proper class, it's going to be hard work."

"I know," Molly whispered back, irritated. "I used to go to the gym all the time back in New York." _Mostly to pose, of course, but still…_

"How are you all doing?" he shouted cheerfully, looking down at them all. "Ready to have some fun?"

"Yes!" they all shouted back laughing.

_Oh, yes, _thought Molly, feeling herself melting away inside. _Oh, please notice me, I'd so love to have some fun with you…I bet you'd be gentle and loving and tender…if you'd just look at me in that way, you'd see…_

"Then let's go. We'll start with a warm-up. Okay? Up…like this…and then down…like this. Here we go!"

It was surprisingly hard work, Molly found, but she was determined to keep up. _I want you to notice me_, she thought again, looking at him longingly. _I know I'd be safe with you…_

--

Once she got started, it was surprisingly easy to talk to him. She told him about her childhood in Lazytown, things she hadn't even known she remembered; the races, the competitions, the baseball matches, the times when it snowed, the times when the sun shone, the endless games of make-believe with her friends. He sat and listened to her, hardly speaking, simply watching her intently. His gaze was intense and compelling, and when their eyes met, the hungry look on his face made her shiver.

"I wish Molly could have had that kind of childhood," he said softly at last.

"She seems pretty happy to me," replied Stephanie.

"Maybe…but still…I wish I'd found this place sooner…I wish…"

She looked at him questioningly, and he smiled.

"You're very bad for me, Stephanie. There's something about you that makes me want to open up and tell you all the darkest secrets of my soul." He looked at her seriously. "Which, since I'm trying to convince you that we should be much more to each other than simply the owner and the Deputy Mayor, can only be a bad thing."

She felt the mood of the conversation turning, and began to fold her napkin back up so she could leave, but he took it out of her hands and laid it firmly on the table.

"Don't even think about running away. You told me your class was at two, we've got plenty of time. And now I want to ask you about something else…how in the hell are you married at your age? What happened?"

"What do you mean, _what happened_?"

"You're - how old? Nineteen?"

"Twenty-one," she said with dignity.

"Twenty-one, then, and you're bright, incredibly talented and absolutely gorgeous. How did he do it? How on earth did he talk you into settling down so young?"

"He didn't have to talk me into anything," she said, trying to keep her temper. "It was what we both wanted."

"But - why didn't you carry on training? You were at the Conservatoire in Metropolis, right?"

"How did you know?"

"I keep an ear to the ground. Did he not want you out of his sight? I can't say I'd _blame_ him, of course," he added, looking at her with an appreciation so open it made her blush, "but still…"

"It wasn't like that at all," protested Stephanie. "I _wanted _to leave, it was my choice. Living apart from him…it wasn't like living at all. And besides…we were having a baby."

"You have a baby as well? How old?"

"She'll be two in November."

"And…tell me again when you got married?"

"Two years ago last June."

He did the maths in his head, then smiled at her knowingly.

"Aha."

"What do you mean, _aha_?"

"So _that's_ what happened." There was a knowledgeable twinkle in his eye that she didn't like.

"We did _not_ get married just because of Emma," said Stephanie heatedly. "We were planning to get married anyway. And besides, I _wanted_ Emma, we both did, it was what we both wanted more than anything." She paused. "And I don't know why I'm telling you any of this, it's absolutely none of your business. I think I need to get back for my class."

"No, you don't," he said, taking her arm and forcing her to sit back down again. "Don't be angry with me. I'm just - intrigued by you. I can't understand why such a lovely young girl, with all the world at her feet, would choose to bury herself in a small town and tie herself down with a husband and a child."

"Haven't you ever been in love?"

"From time to time, like everyone," he said, smiling wolfishly, "but it's rare for it to last at your age. You should be falling in and out of love a dozen times a year."

"Well, all I can tell you is that there's never been anyone else for me," she said softly. "Never."

"Really? You never dated any other boys?"

"Once or twice, I suppose, but it never felt right. They just - they weren't _him_, you see."

"Must have been weird?"

"What do you mean?"

"He knew you when you were a little girl. Now you're married. How did you make the transition? It must have messed with your head a little bit, no?"

She looked down at her empty plate, very, very embarrassed.

"All right, I won't ask you about that, then. But - don't you ever get bored?"

"Bored?" She laughed out loud. "Absolutely not. Not ever. Being with him is like - like coming home."

"Coming home? Well, that's something special, of course. But, to take your metaphor and turn it to my own purposes…don't you ever want to…maybe take a holiday? See somewhere new? Just for a little while?"

"I'm really not sure I know what you mean," she said, knowing exactly what he was asking her.

"Yes, you are. You know…and I know." He took her hand and stroked it gently. His voice was low and intense. "Don't try and deny it, honey, you know as well as I do there's a connection between us. You're too young and lovely to be tied down to just one man before you've had a chance to see who else is out there, however much he loves you - oh, I know, Stephanie, I know how he feels about you, and who can blame him? But you shouldn't be wasting your youth like that." His voice was soothing and hypnotic, and his fingers swirled over the palm of her hand and across her wrist, caressing, smoothing, making her heart race.

"I don't think we should be talking about this," she said with difficulty, trying to take her hand back.

"Because I've offended you? Or because you're tempted?" His hand moved over her wrist and up her arm, exploring the satin-soft skin. She stared at him, mesmerised. "I'm sorry. I won't ask you that again. You don't have to tell me. I can see how you feel without you having to say a word. If you like, you can just…let me take charge. I'm more than happy to make all the running, and I promise he'll never find out…"

--

Molly knew she should be able to keep up, but couldn't catch her breath. _You can do this_, she told herself, _have some discipline, you've skipped a meal or two plenty of times before. Have some guts._ But the dizziness was getting worse, not better. The edges of her vision were turning black, and she had to stop and grab onto Lizzie for support.

"Okay, everyone, take a break!" she heard someone say, as if from a long distance away, and then suddenly, blissfully, there were strong arms supporting her as she felt her knees give way. "Molly, what on earth is the matter? Come here and sit down."

He half-carried her to the edge of the studio and made her sit down. She closed her eyes and luxuriated in the feeling of his hands on her waist and around her shoulders, supporting her. When she opened her eyes, she saw that he was looking at her enquiringly.

"I guess I should have eaten breakfast this morning," she said shakily, and he raised his eyebrows.

"No wonder you're feeling faint. Wait here." He left her for a minute, and she felt bereft. _I'd just got him all to myself and now he's gone again…what do I have to do to make him see me?_

"Here." He held out a banana and a bottle of water. "Eat this, drink the water and get your breath back." He sat down beside her. "Is there a reason you're trying to do a tough exercise class on no breakfast?"

She shrugged, suddenly shy. He was nothing like the boys she liked to tease and fool around with: he was so big and muscled and solid. She longed to lean against him and see if he would respond, but she didn't quite dare.

"I'm watching my weight," she murmured.

He looked at her in genuine puzzlement.

"You're just fifteen years old," he said at last, very gently but clearly baffled.

"So?" she asked defensively.

He smiled, that warm, oblivious smile that had frustrated so many girls who had tried to flirt with him.

"Okay, so…this is really not my area. Maybe you should talk to my wife. But take it from me, Molly, at your age you should just be concentrating on growing up healthily. I would eat that banana if I were you, you'll feel better."

"Bananas are full of calories," she said, reluctantly peeling it.

"Bananas are full of _energy_," he corrected her gently. "Which is what you need. Would you expect your father's car to run on an empty tank? Well, then." She stood up. "I think you should probably sit the rest of this class out. And next time, eat breakfast, okay?"

She nodded.

"You promise?"

"I promise," she said, breathless under his gaze.

"Good girl." He smiled at her again, and then he was gone.

Lizzie came to sit beside her for a minute.

"Are you okay, Molly?"

"Oh, yes," she said, looking dazzled. Lizzie rolled her eyes.

"In a minute you'll be telling me you just pulled that stunt so he'd catch you in his arms like that. You lucky girl."

"Now there's an idea," said Molly, laughing. "So…"

"So?"

"So…do you think…do you think he…"

"_What_? No!" said Lizzie, laughing. "Of course I don't."

"But he was so _nice _to me…"

"He's nice to all of us. It doesn't mean anything. I heard on the grapevine he was pretty nice to Dante the other day when he got into trouble with your dad, and I don't think he fancies Dante, do you? As far as he's concerned, we're all just kids. You do know that, right?" She patted Molly's arm affectionately. "I'll see you after the class finishes, okay?"

_Not me_, thought Molly rebelliously. _You might have grown up in the boondocks where fifteen is still a kid, but I didn't. I'm not a child any more._

--

"No," said Stephanie breathlessly, taking her hand back.

"No what?"

"No, I'm not going to do this." She stood up. "I'm leaving. Thank you for lunch." She grabbed her bag and dashed from the restaurant.

"Fucking hell," said James crossly, and rummaged through his pockets for his wallet. He threw three hundred dollars on the table, and ran after her.

He caught up with her about half a mile down the street. She was fast and determined, and it was only her bright pink hair that had enabled him to spot her at all. He caught her by the arm and spun her roughly around.

"Stephanie," he said hoarsely, gasping for breath. "Stephanie, I'm really sorry…fuck me, that nearly _killed _me…how are you not even out of breath?"

That made her smile.

"I'm a dancer. it's just part of what I do."

"I guess. Like being a pushy, arrogant bastard is part of what I do. I shouldn't have tried to come on to you that strongly and I'm sorry." He paused for a minute, considering. "For fuck's sake, all I seem to do since I moved to Lazytown is _apologise_ to people…what the hell's happening to me?"

"What do you mean?" she asked blankly.

"Your husband didn't tell you about the other night down by the lake? Or for that matter, that night when you - ? Wow. A genuinely nice guy on top of everything else. Who knew?…never mind. What I wanted to say was…" he sighed. "Look, can I at least drive you back into town?" He saw her hesitate. "Please. I'd hate to think I'd made you so uncomfortable you couldn't even share the inside of a car with me."

"I just don't think that's a good idea."

"Look. I'm not going to lie to you. Why would I? I'm not ashamed. I find you unbelievably attractive. Christ, _attractive_…" he swallowed hard. "That doesn't even begin to cover it. And, that being the case, you can't blame me for trying. Or can you?"

"I'm _married_," she said, not wanting to weaken, but finding it hard to be angry with him when he was looking at her with such naked passion. "Don't you think that should stop you from - trying?"

"Why would it? You're not breaking any promises to me. If it stops _you_, I think you're missing out, but fair enough. If it doesn't stop you…well, _I'm _certainly not going to pass judgement on you. We'll all of us be a long time dead, Stephanie. We should take our opportunities where we find them."

"This isn't really selling me on that ride back to Lazytown."

He smiled wryly.

"No, I suppose not…I keep looking at you out of the corner of my eye and it ruins my good intentions. But I promise you. I won't try and force you. I'll just have to…hope that eventually you'll see things my way." He held out his right hand and raised his eyebrows. "Can we make friends?"

She sighed, but took his hand and shook it.

"Are you going to make me run back as well, or can we walk?" he asked her, holding a hand over his heart dramatically, and she laughed, charmed against her will.

"We can walk."

"How's your uncle doing?" he asked her suddenly.

"Oh…you saw him this morning. He's better than he was, but I don't think he'll ever be the same again. It was such a shock…he's just always been there for me, always exactly the same. I'd kind of forgotten he was getting older…"

"He's like a father to you, isn't he?" he asked her. "Tell me, do you _ever _see your parents these days?"

"They were killed in a car accident five years ago," she said suddenly. "It was in the Alps. My dad was driving. Something came the other way and he panicked and swerved on the bend. The car went over the edge. The other driver - well, he didn't even get a dent."

"Oh, _shit_. I'm sorry. Was that what you didn't want to tell me earlier?"

"People tend to look at you differently when they know you're an orphan."

"I know. When you're young, anyway. It wears off as you get older."

She looked at him.

"You, too?"

"Yep."

"And is that what you didn't want to talk about - "

"Yep."

"I'm sorry."

"Yep."

They walked in silence for a while.

"Mine weren't killed in an accident," he said suddenly.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me," she replied, startled.

"I know I don't…I just…I feel I can talk to you, I want to be honest with you…" he took her arm and led her to a bench where they could be out of the way of the passers-by. "Like I said, my dad was a career criminal, in and out of jail the whole time when we were kids. There were six years between my sister and me because they were hardly ever in the same room together long enough for him to knock her up." He swallowed. "Anyway, the last time he went away was when I was one. He did five years for grand larceny, I think he bargained it down a bit because he should probably have got longer, given his record. So…he was gone for five years. When he went in, I was one and Jennifer was seven. When he came out that time, I was six and she was twelve. She was so _pretty_, Stephanie, even though we never had enough money to dress well, she had all this beautiful hair and lovely eyes…Molly, my Molly I mean, my little girl - she looks just like her." He sighed. "Well, he…my dad…started - he started visiting her in her room. Late at night, when mum was on nights. If you know what I mean. You - you know what I'm talking about, right? You know what he was doing?"

She nodded, her eyes round with horror. His voice was barely audible and she had to lean closer to hear what he was saying.

"I didn't realise until years afterwards what he'd been doing to her, I was just a little kid. I was even jealous because I thought he liked her more than me…anyway. When my mum found out…when she came home early the day the factory had a fire…well, _she_ knew what was happening, all right. She didn't say anything, just got this look in her eye. The next day, he went out to meet his friends, and she took us down to her mother's place in the Bronx and left us there. Then she went back home to wait for him. He was a strong man, but she was…she was a wildcat, a Momma bear defending her little ones…"

"What did she do?" Stephanie whispered.

"What would you do to a man who'd hurt - what was her name? - Emma? What would you do if you had the chance?" he asked her, and saw her clench her fists. "You'd kill him, right? Well, that's just what she did. Stabbed him to death the second he walked through the door. Wouldn't let either of us testify, said she wasn't having Jennifer dragged through the courts on top of everything she'd already been through. She went away for life. Once I grew up and got started and had a bit of cash to spare, I did what I could to spring her, but there was no police record of what _he'd _done to Jennifer: so all they saw was a wife who'd lost it with her useless criminal drunk of a husband. Some things money just can't buy, you know? She died behind bars of breast cancer, aged forty-six. Said she didn't care, she'd do it again tomorrow to protect us."

"And what happened to your sister?" asked Stephanie, hardly daring to breathe.

"Oh…well, there wasn't exactly much money for therapy. She was all messed up, you know? Well, really, how could she not be? She drifted for a while, ran around with the wrong sort of guys, looking for love in all the wrong places. Got into the drugs scene. One day she got unlucky, the gear she got hold of was top of the range, not the low-grade crap she was used to…massive overdose. Didn't make it." He took a long, shuddering breath.

Stephanie felt the tears gathering in her eyes. Impulsively she put her arms around him and held him for a second.

"I don't know what to say except I'm so, so sorry."

"That's why I didn't want to tell you. It's not much of a family history really, is it? I always swore I wouldn't be anything like him, but I sometimes wonder. Wall Street is just the grandest of grand larcenies committed by men in fabulously expensive suits. Maybe I'm more like him than I realise…" He laughed, trying to break the mood. "_They fuck you up, your mum and dad; they may not mean to, but they do_…Sorry, honey, my New York vocabulary just keeps making a bid for freedom. I don't even realise I'm doing it half the time. If it makes it any better, I'm quoting a famous English poet."

"I see," she said, smiling with him. "_Literary_ swearing."

"That's the one. Does it bother you so very much?"

"I know it must seem ridiculous."

"Not ridiculous…very charming. But it's a good old Anglo-Saxon word." He took her hand again. His eyes, now dark and hot with lust, looked deep into hers. "Don't you ever want to say it, Stephanie?"

_And now here we are again_, she thought in a panic. _Do I actually, secretly like it? Do I actually, secretly like _him_? Why haven't I just walked away from him? What is it about him…? _

"No," she said firmly.

"That's a shame…because, my God, how I would love to hear you say it…to hear you ask me for it…"

"Don't start this again," she said warningly. He began to stroke the back of her neck with his thumb. "No…you can't do that…"

"Why not? Doesn't it feel good?" She lowered her eyes. "Don't try and tell me that you're not as turned on as I am, because I won't believe you. I want to stroke you like that all over, and make you feel that good everywhere…"

"Stop it. Please."

"Stop what? Telling you what you know already?"

"Stop trying to…tempt me."

"So you admit you're tempted," he whispered hoarsely.

She looked at him with her head held high.

"You have _no idea_ how much I went through to be with him," she said. "You have no idea what _he_ gave up to be with me. I'm not putting all of that at risk."

"There won't be any risk. I can be more discreet than you can imagine."

"And would that include claiming the fifty dollars you bet Robbie that you could - that you could - "

"Oh, he told you that, did he?" said James softly. "I see. Well, I'll certainly bear that in mind for the future…two things, young lady. Firstly, he made the bet with me, not the other way around. And secondly, if that's your only objection…"

"I'm not discussing this any more, I won't, I - "

"You don't have to choose, Stephanie," he said, almost tenderly. "You can have both of us."

"Hey, Pinkie, is that you?" Stephanie heard Trixie's voice and turned away from James with embarrassment and relief. "What are you doing here? If I'd known I would have asked you to come and get some lunch with me." She stopped and smiled at them both, then looked again and gave Stephanie a hard stare.

"I wasn't planning on being here. I just - James asked me to come and have lunch with him. To celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

"I was sworn in as Deputy Mayor this morning," said James, swiftly recovering. "It's lovely to see you. Would you like to come and get some coffee with us?"

"I really have to go," said Stephanie firmly. "If I run I can just about make the next monorail back home and get to my class. Thank you for a lovely lunch. I'll see you later, Trixie, okay?" She put her arms around Trixie and gave her a quick hug.

"What have you been _doing_?" hissed Trixie in her ear under cover of the embrace.

"Tell you later," Stephanie whispered back, and was gone.

"So," said Trixie thoughtfully. "Are _you_ going to tell me what you've both been up to? _You're_ hiding it pretty well, but _she _looks as guilty as hell."

James laughed.

"You don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"I've never believed in it. She's my best friend, you know, and she's the sweetest girl you'll ever know. You mess her life up and I'll kill you."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said sincerely.

"Oh, I think you would."

"Now you're actually just rude."

She smiled at him.

"Don't you like rude girls? If you ask me very nicely I'll let you buy me a coffee, and then I'll explain exactly why you need to stay away from Stephanie."


	7. Chapter 7 I Don't Like Mondays

**Chapter Seven - I Don't Like Mondays**

_How can I be a hero?_ wondered Ziggy, sitting on the end of his bed and sucking thoughtfully on the end of his pencil._ Urgh, the paint's coming off…I wonder if you can get tooth damage from pencils?_

He reviewed his list.

1) Do impressive things  
2) Get people out of danger (especially Marie)  
3) Be extraordinarily nice at all times

He thought.

4) Grow moustache??

He considered this for a while, then crossed it off again. _Fine for him, he wears it with panache, but maybe not for me._

4) Be good at everything without trying, but without making everyone else feel intimidated

_No, no, no, that's not it . He _does_ have to try, he works really hard, he's always learning new stuff. He just doesn't have to….try…_

--

Milford put on his tracksuit and made his way down to the track. The exercise was all right, he had no objections to being gently encouraged by one of his oldest friends to alternately walk briskly and jog slowly round and round for an hour. But, if it was totally up to him, he would prefer not to have Bessie come down to watch him and cheer him on…

"Good morning!" Sportacus was already waiting for him, passing the time with a complex pattern of cartwheels and backflips. "Is Bessie joining us?"

"Not yet," sighed Milford.

Sportacus gave him a quick, understanding smile, but tactfully held his tongue.

"So, are you ready to start?"

"I think so," said Milford, smiling. He could already feel the difference. His stamina was definitely improving, admittedly off a very low base, but still…

He glanced sideways at the man beside him. _It should be completely demoralising to work out with him_, he thought to himself, _but somehow he makes it easy._ He made his way perseveringly round the track, once, twice. _Hey, look at that! I'm on the third lap and we're not even ten minutes in yet._

"Milford!" Bessie waved to them from the other side of the track. "Milford, dear, I hope you're not working too hard. You're not, are you? No pains, or anything? I brought you some water if you need it…are you sure you're not overdoing it? You know what the doctor said, nothing but _gentle _exercise."

"He's doing absolutely great, Bessie!" shouted Sportacus cheerfully. "You should be really proud of him. Ah…I don't suppose you brought any fruit with you?"

"Oh, no, I didn't…shall I go home and get some?"

"If you're absolutely sure you don't mind."

"Of course I don't mind!" She smiled indulgently. "Honestly, you boys. What you'd do if you didn't have me to look after you…" She bustled away.

Milford looked at him in silent admiration.

"Do you feel up to another two circuits before we move on? Fantastic. Oh - " his crystal flashed white. "I have to go, sorry…"

--

5) Be unfailingly good-humoured to everyone. Even when they're really kind of annoying you…

--

In the little café at the edge of the park, the monthly ideas review of Six Thousand Ideas was in session.

"Let's see what you've got for us then, Pixel," said Trixie, idly tickling Emma under her chin.

"Isn't Ziggy coming?" asked Stephanie.

"No…he's got something planned with Marie," said Stingy, smiling to himself.

"So they're actually an official couple now?"

"Who knows," said Stingy, still smiling. "All the best couples start out as totally _sub judice_ these days." Trixie threw an apple core at him and he ducked. "Okay, Pixel, you're on."

"I really like this one," said Pixel, pushing forward something on wheels that seemed to consist entirely of multiple dangling arms. "I call it the Sockmaster Six Thousand. You give it your socks, and it matches them up."

"Is this the switch?" asked Stephanie, pressing the large red button on the top.

"No, _don't _switch it on if there aren't any socks for it to - oh, no…"

The Sockmaster began to flail menacingly around the edge of the table. When it failed to find any socks, it began to grab at napkins and plates and glasses, smashing them together as it tried to roll them into matching pairs. Stephanie grabbed Emma and everyone ducked underneath a nearby table as splinters of glass and china began to fly everywhere.

"How do you switch it off?" asked Stingy urgently, grabbing Pixel by the shoulders.

"You have to push the button again…"

"Jesus, _Pixel_, how many times have I _told_ you? If it's dangerous, fit it with a remote control!"

"I didn't think it came into the _dangerous _category!"

A shard of glass buried itself in the table-leg, inches from Stingy's ear. He took it out and pointed it meaningfully at Pixel. The Sockmaster left the table and opened a cupboard stacked with plates and glasses.

"How long will it keep going?"

"It sort of…runs on solar power…"

"Until _sunset_?"

"It should absorb enough power to get it through the night too…I'm really sorry, Stingy…"

"And now it's between us and the exit," said Trixie dreamily, watching its destructive progress across the café.

"Daddy coming," announced Emma.

The door to the café opened and Sportacus somersaulted effortlessly over the Sockmaster, diving neatly between the shower of plates. Seconds later he was beside them under the table, looking at the rampaging Sockmaster with amusement and exasperation.

"And what is _that_?" he asked Pixel. "No, actually, why don't we worry about that later…just tell me how to switch it off."

"The switch is on the top, in the middle," said Pixel faintly.

"In the middle of…all those arms."

"Sorry."

"Huh. Well. Okay…" he thought for a minute, then smiled. Dodging plates and glasses, he leapt over their heads to another table, and tugged the tablecloth off. The place settings quivered, but remained in place.

("Your husband is completely cool," said Pixel to Stephanie admiringly.

"I know," said Stephanie, smiling.)

He reached into his backpack, pulled out four baseballs, and knotted one into each corner of the tablecloth. Then he leapt straight up into the air above the Sockmaster and dropped the tablecloth over it. While it flailed and writhed hopelessly beneath the tablecloth, he landed just behind it and found the off-switch. The Sockmaster powered down and came to a halt.

"Everyone okay?" Sportacus asked with a smile.

"Yes," they chorused.

"Sorry again," said Pixel sheepishly.

"Daddy kiss Emma," demanded Emma, holding up her arms. He swept her up and gave her a kiss, deliberately tickling her with his moustache to make her squeal.

"Pixel," he said gently, "I don't mind at all, but really, if you're going to build things with multiple arms that fling objects around the room…you might want to make it a little easier to switch them off again?"

"That's what Stingy said," admitted Pixel.

The crystal began to beep again.

"I have to go." He smiled at Stephanie, passed Emma over and disappeared out of the door.

Cathy, the owner of the café, came out from the kitchen where she had been cowering.

"We'll pay," said Stingy hastily, seeing her face.

"You'd better," she said menacingly. "And you know _I'm_ not cleaning up that mess…"

--

6) Be kind about other people's insecurities.

--

Ziggy was so eager to get to Marie's that he arrived twenty minutes early. He jogged restlessly up and down the street, muttering and chewing his nails.

He heard the airship flying over, and looked up and waved. It paused in the sky above him, and a few moments later Sportacus leapt down the ladder and landed beside him.

"Hey, Ziggy…how are you?"

"I'm good," said Ziggy gloomily, cracking his knuckles.

"Are you sure?" asked Sportacus, laughing.

"Oh, you know…" Ziggy shuffled his feet restlessly. "I'm just…I'm meeting Marie, we're going out for the afternoon, and I'm early."

"Is that a problem?"

"I don't want her to think I'm too keen." He looked at Sportacus pleadingly.

"But…you do like her, don't you?"

"Oh, _God_ yes, of _course _I do…but I don't want her to know how much. Because then she might think I'm an idiot."

"If she thinks you like her she'll think you're an idiot?" Sportacus ruffled his hair affectionately. "I don't think that's how it works, my friend."

"Do you really think so?"

"Ziggy, think about it. Would she be going with you today if she didn't like your company?" His crystal began to beep again. "I have to go…Have a great day. And stop _worrying _so much." He swarmed back up the rope-ladder and disappeared.

"It's all right for you!" shouted Ziggy crossly into the sky. "_All_ the girls like you…and you're only interested in one girl anyway, _and _she's your wife…"

"Who are you talking to?" asked Marie. "Hey, it's okay, it's just me. Don't be so jumpy!" She patted his arm reassuringly. "I'll look after you. Hey, I even brought a picnic."

_But _I_ want to look after _you_,_ thought Ziggy to himself. She was wearing a delicate chiffon dress which floated around her in the breeze and dainty jewelled flip-flops.

"You look amazing," he said sincerely.

"You always say that."

"Do I? Sorry. I thought we could go to the lake? I hired us a boat for the afternoon."

--

The door jingled, and Cathy showed James and Molly Thornton to a booth. James briefly scanned the menu before ordering the New York All Day Breakfast for them both, with black coffee for him and orange juice for Molly.

He looked over at the small group clustered around the central table. Stingy and Pixel were hunched over what looked like a tangle of wires attached to a tiny nozzle, discussing it with animation. When he had finished with Molly, he thought, he might hang around a little longer and see what they were cooking up. And there were Trixie and Stephanie as well…he licked his lips…and that pink-haired little scrap roaming around at their feet must be - Stephanie's child. _How odd that she's actually a mother…she only looks like a girl herself…_

Their food arrived and Molly turned over her eggs and bacon in disgust.

"I'm not eating this, dad," she announced. "It's loaded with fat."

"That's what I want to talk to you about, young lady," he said. "I've been watching you. You're losing weight again. Aren't you?"

She looked at him defiantly.

"I'm _growing_. It's normal to get thinner when you get taller."

"Bullshit. You're too skinny. Eat that, please, Molly, I didn't order it for you to look at."

"I don't like scrambled eggs."

"I couldn't possibly care less. It's my job to look after you, and I want to see you eat it. Now."

Sulkily she ate a forkful of eggs.

"That's better." He took her hand. "And…I need you to take off that hoodie for a minute."

"_Dad…_"

"I know. Let's get it over with."

Reluctantly, she took off her red hoodie and held out her arms. He took them between his hands, first the right one, then the left one, and ran his fingers over them gently. He winced as he touched the scars on her left arm, and his eyes when they met hers were filled with guilt.

"Nothing new?" he asked at last.

"You can see there isn't," she said crossly.

"I know. Baby girl, I have to look after you. Which is why I want you to eat that entire plateful, and then sit here for a good half hour afterwards so I know you're not throwing it up again in the bathroom. Don't look at me like that, Molly, I've dated enough models in my time to know the tricks of the trade. Eat."

She saw her opportunity.

"If I do, can I go and meet the gang afterwards?" She saw him hesitate. "_Please_, dad. They're helping the younger kids build a new tree-house…the old one fell down a few weeks ago." _And I bet _he'll_ be there…_

"I don't want to come across you making out with that boy again," he said, violently.

"Dad!" They had never discussed the ugly, frightening scene on the lakeside; it had simply gone under the carpet, along with all the other things they never spoke about.

"He's not good enough for you."

"You should be pleased that - that I'm trying to do normal stuff - " Neither of them dared look at each other; instead they gazed at their plates.

"Okay. You're right. You can go. _If_ you eat."

--

Ziggy helped Marie step into the boat, and with a flourish, he picked up the pole.

"It's a punt," he explained magnificently. "I couldn't get a gondola, so I thought this was the next best thing."

"You know how to punt?"

"Of course I do." He had had twenty minutes practice the afternoon before, and had found it surprisingly difficult, but he was hoping the moment would inspire him. "Shall we cross the lake and have lunch on the other side?"

"That sounds lovely. Very romantic."_Yes!_ thought Ziggy.

Marie settled herself comfortably, and watched through her eyelashes as Ziggy roamed up and down the boat, pushing the pole down firmly onto the lake bottom and propelling them through the water. _He's so sweet_, she thought fondly. _Definitely the sweetest boy I know…hey, where did he go?_

Ziggy put the pole into the mud a little too firmly. As he struggled to get it out again, the boat continued its gentle glide through the water, and he automatically stepped off, into thin air. He clung desperately to the pole as the boat drifted dreamily away from him and Marie stared at him in shock, unsure whether to laugh or shout for help.

Ziggy had no doubts. Holding tightly on to the pole, he closed his eyes and screamed at the top of his voice.

"Heeeeelp!"

--

"Wow," said Trixie, fitting the small black mask over her nose. "This is real? If I wear it, I can breathe under water?"

"Is it really that good? I didn't think it was very interesting, myself…"

"Are you _kidding_? Something that lets you dive without tanks? You just…swim down and keep breathing? That's magical."

"I got the idea from _Star Wars_," he admitted. "So it didn't seem all that great, really. Will that mean patent problems, Stingy?"

"You do know that _Star Wars _isn't real, don't you?" said Stingy despairingly. "No, don't answer, it's best if I don't know…how long does each filter last?"

"A couple of hours."

"And how do you know when it runs out?"

"Well, to be honest, because you start breathing water. I've only tried it out in the bath. Sorry."

"Well, we'll need something more user-friendly than _drowning_ as a sign that you need to come back up again, but hopefully that's nothing major…is it?"

"Oh, no," said Pixel confidently. "I can sort that out this afternoon, probably. Do you really like it?"

Stingy rolled his eyes.

"Don't make me say it."

"Shut up or you'll kill me?"

"No! You're a _genius_, you - you idiot…trust me, this is definitely a winner."

--

7) When you're rescuing people, try not to laugh at them.

--

Ziggy clung desperately to the pole, feeling himself beginning a slow and ungraceful slide down into the water. Marie tried to hide her giggles. Then he heard the airship engines, and saw Sportacus hanging upside-down from the rope-ladder just above him.

"Ziggy!" he called. "Hold out your hands!"

"I don't want to fall!" he shouted back.

"I'll catch you! It's fine! Come on, you can do it!"

Ziggy closed his eyes, and let go. He felt two hands close over his forearms. Then he was swinging wildly through space.

"Here we go," said Sportacus reassuringly, and Ziggy felt the thud as his feet hit the bottom of the boat. Another wild swing of the ladder, and Sportacus, still upside down, was handing him back the pole.

"Thanks," said Ziggy fervently.

"No problem. Are you all right?"

"Oh, I'm great…" He looked at the older man's face to see if he was being laughed at. Sportacus looked back at him gravely. His mouth twitched just a little, and there was a twinkle in his eyes, but then he was always cheerful, thought Ziggy hopefully. Maybe he hadn't looked quite as ridiculous as he imagined…

"Well," said Sportacus, still totally straight-faced, "you guys enjoy the rest of your day, okay?" He somersaulted off the ladder, caught the bottom rung with his hands, climbed back up into the airship, closed the door behind him, and called out "Chair!" so he could collapse into it for a few minutes while he cried with laughter.

--

"Hey," said James companionably, wandering over.

"Hello," they all chorused politely. He noted the differing reactions of the group. Stephanie drew back slightly and picked up her daughter; Trixie smiled flirtatiously; Stingy nodded politely, but looked wary; and Pixel, sweetly oblivious, just looked pleased at the chance of a new audience.

"What do you think of this?" he asked, holding out a small black rubber mask. James examined it warily.

"What's it for?"

"It's a new kind of breathing apparatus for under water."

"Where does the tank go?"

"That's the point - you don't need a tank. The filter just pulls the oxygen straight out of the water."

"_Really_? How does it work?"

"Don't tell him," said Stingy warningly. "Sorry. No offence."

"None taken, young man. You need to be a nasty suspicious bastard if you're going to make it in business these days." He smiled. "No offence. You, ah, you wouldn't be interested in discussing a deal, would you? Prickly Tree has a fairly large hotel group in the Caribbean. This could be a great hook as part of a super-premium diving holiday package."

Stingy looked thoughtful.

"I was seeing it more as a mass market product, but now you mention it…"

"Then let's find a slot." James flipped open his PDA. "I can do ten-twenty next Thursday? Meet here?"

"Sounds good," said Stingy, smiling. "Is that it, Pixel? Anything else?"

"No, we're done," said Pixel. "How did the Gizmo Guy do?"

"One winner, two re-works and four complete wipe-outs," said Trixie.

"I _liked_ the automatic sock-sorter," grumbled Pixel, picking up his earphones. "Grateful Dead, _American Beauty_." He put the earphones in.

Stingy stared at him, then ripped them out again.

"What did you just do?" he demanded.

"I was just cueing up a track on my player. What?"

"You have voice recognition on your MP3 player?"

"Yeah, I fitted it last week. Ow!" Pixel winced as Stingy cuffed him irritably around the head. "What was that for?"

"How many times have I told you? _How _many times? _Show me everything!_ This is - oh, my God, forget the diving thing, _this _is the best one of the month. You're such an _idiot_! Do you have any idea how popular it's going to be…?" They left the café, arguing.

"While we're both here," said James smoothly, "If you've got five minutes, Stephanie, there are a few things I need to discuss with you round at the office. Nothing major, just a couple of applications for new businesses, and three new families have joined the waiting list. If you've got five minutes, of course."

"Well…yes," said Stephanie. "Just five minutes, though."

"I'll see you later," said Trixie. She turned and held out her hand for James to shake. When he took it, she looked at him, winked, and mouthed, _I mean it, I'll kill you_. Then she was gone.

--

8) Be sincerely and completely oblivious to the devastating impression you make on other people.

--

"Can I have the hammer?" asked Dante, holding out a friendly hand. Molly passed him the hammer, and he squeezed her fingers gently as he took it from her. By mutual consent, they hadn't been alone together since the afternoon at the lake, but she knew that he still liked her - despite the scene with her father. But…she glanced down through the leaves, and sighed a little. She could see Sportacus holding up one of the seven-year-olds - Gabe? Mike? There were so _many _of them, always _around_ - on his shoulders so that the little boy could reach up and pull himself into the tree.

The new tree-house was beginning to take shape. Dante was nailing the floorboards into place on the rough frame laid out in the branches. On the ground, Lizzie and Matthew were working on the walls. Molly looked at the half-built floor speculatively.

_I wonder,_ she thought. _What would happen if…_she stood up and stepped experimentally onto the end of one of the loose boards.

"No!" screamed Dante, grabbing for her. "It's not nailed down…"

The board flipped up on its end, tipping her into the gap, and she fell down through the branches. As she fell, she wondered for a panicked instant how anyone could be fast enough to catch her, but somehow, there he was, and she landed safely in his arms.

"Are you all right? What happened?"

"I think I must have stood on the wrong board," she said, gazing up into his eyes. _Can you see what I'm thinking? What I'm wishing for? Can you…?_

"You really need to be careful," he said to her, so gently that it was impossible to feel embarrassed about being told off like a little kid.

"I know." _It feels so good to be held by you, I'd do it again five minutes from now if I thought I could get away with it…_she sighed blissfully and let herself go soft and limp against him, but it was like trying to snuggle against a very attractive statue: there was simply no response from him at all.

"Well, not to worry." He set her gently back on her feet.

"Sportacus - " she said, not sure what she was going to say, but wanting to prolong the moment. He looked at her and smiled.

"Yes? Oh - " His crystal lit up and began to beep. "Sorry, I'll have to catch you later…"

She watched him go wistfully.

--

"So what do we need to talk about?" asked Stephanie when they reached the office. She put Emma down and passed her the cloth bag of toys. Emma pulled out three cars and two plastic animals, and began lining them up along the joins in the floorboards, chuckling to herself.

James looked down at Emma, and smiled.

"She looks like you," he said. Then he leaned closer. "Although I see she has her father's ears…" he tried to pick Emma up for a closer look, but she scowled, turned away, and announced crossly, "I don't _like_ you."

"Emma!" Stephanie looked scandalised, but James laughed heartily and sat back in his chair.

"Don't worry. _Definitely _her father's child…where _is_ he from, by the way, Stephanie?"

"Iceland….sort of."

"Sort of?" He looked at her for a moment, then took out a stack of paperwork from the desk. Stephanie noticed with a pang that for the first time she could remember, it was ruthlessly tidy. "New business applications. Someone wants to open a sandwich shop at the monorail station. The numbers look good."

"It's not one of the big chains, is it?"

"No, definitely not. I checked."

"It's just that there was this application a year or so ago from Mochalicious. They went through a franchise holder. We didn't realise until the sign went up. Uncle Milford was mortified.…"

"Don't worry. That might have got past your uncle, but not me…believe me, if they were a front, I'd know. So, are you happy?"

"It sounds like a great idea."

"No, Stephanie…are you _happy_?"

"What do you mean?"

"Doesn't it get hard sometimes, being married to him? Don't you ever wonder about the future? About what it means for you and your daughter? Don't you worry sometimes that she won't fit in, here or - wherever he's from?"

"I -" they had both wondered about it, and had discussed it many times. He was always gently insistent that Emma would be happier in her home rather than his, although he was reluctant to discuss exactly why. "Is there any chance we could talk about this when she is older?" he had finally asked her, pleadingly. "There are things that will make more sense then…"

"I can see that you do. What are you going to do about it, I wonder?"

"What was the next application?" she asked firmly.

"Someone wanting to open a bar, although I suspect I know the answer. I don't suppose there's any chance of convincing you to overturn the ban on alcohol within the town limits."

"Not a chance," she agreed, smiling.

"Fair enough. I'll turn it down this afternoon…Stephanie, if I asked you out for lunch again, would you say yes?"

"No!"

"That's a shame. I thought we got on rather well. I'm not going to give up, you know."

"No? Well, neither am I." She looked at him defiantly. "Next application."

"Now we're onto the families. Does it frighten you that you're tempted?"

She lost her temper.

"What the hell makes you think I'm tempted?"

He grinned.

"The look in your eyes. No, don't look away like that. It'll take a while for you to get used to the idea, but that's okay. You're more than worth waiting for."

Down on the floor, Emma began to wail. Stephanie picked her up.

"Are you bored, baby girl? I'm sorry, we'll go." She looked at James over Emma's head. "We'll have to finish this later."

"No problem." His eyes followed her as she left the office.

--

9) Accept the paradox that the huge power you possess makes you essentially powerless.

--

Robbie was bent intently over the delicate mechanism of the trap, muttering to himself as he placed the bait carefully over the trigger.

"What a good thing kids everywhere still like sweets," he murmured to himself.

"A word in your ear, friend," said James softly. Robbie's hand twitched, the trap sprang, and suddenly he was hanging in a large net twenty feet in the air.

"What?" James looked up at him in astonishment, and then started to laugh. "What the fucking hell is _that_? Were you _building_ that thing? Who were you planning on catching?"

"Can I do something for you?" asked Robbie, trying to sound dignified.

"Well, actually, there was something, although it's hard to stay properly mad with someone who's just hung himself up in a giant net…I gather you spoke to the delectable Ms Milford about our little wager."

"You're upset because I told her you tried to catch her aunt in her pyjamas?" asked Robbie, wriggling into a more comfortable position. It actually wasn't bad; almost like a hammock really…

"Oh, you know what I'm talking about. And unless you're planning on staying in that net for the rest of time, I recommend you apologise."

"All right," said Robbie instantly. "I apologise. Bad call."

"You don't mean it," said James, glaring.

"Of _course_ I don't mean it. She's an old friend. Besides, fifty bucks is fifty bucks. Any chance of you helping me down? No, I thought not. Well, not to worry, our boy in blue will be here soon."

"So it's like that," said James softly.

"Oh, stop complaining. I signed your nomination papers, didn't I?"

"Yes you did," said James, "for which I owe you. And on a personal level, I do actually quite enjoy your company. Nonetheless, pull one more stunt like that to undermine me, and…"

"Got it," said Robbie affably, waving a hand. "I'll be on your shit list. Fair enough. I told you I was the town Bad Man the first time we met, I do believe."

"Yes, you did."

They heard the sound of airship engines above them.

"I'll see you later," said James, sauntering off with his hands in his pockets.

"Hello, Robbie," said Sportacus, smiling.

"Oh stop looking so smug and help me down," said Robbie irritably. "We both know you're going to."

"Well, Robbie, unfortunately for me, you're absolutely right; I am. Hang on." Sportacus untied the rope and gently lowered Robbie to the ground.

"Can I ask what happened?"

"You can ask." Robbie hesitated, then smiled maliciously. "Would you really like to know? It was the Mayor's fault."

"Mayor _Meanswell_ put you in there?"

"No, not Mayor Meanswell, you buffoon; Mayor Thornton."

"_Deputy_ Mayor Thornton."

"That's how much you like him, is it? I thought so. Must have just about choked you to swear loyalty to him…"

Sportacus sighed wearily.

"Are there any other tender spots you would like to probe, Robbie, or are you done for the day?"

"Just one…I suppose you know he's after your wife. Ah, I thought that would touch a nerve."

"Yes, it does. Are you happy now?"

"Well, much as it pleases me to get on your nerves, I am actually warning you. He's by far the most charming man who's ever made a play for her…not counting you, of course - "

"Why, thank you," said Sportacus with rare irony.

" - and I'd hate to think of the fall-out if he did actually manage to come between you."

"I know she would _never_ - "

"Well, so I should hope. Nonetheless…" Robbie sighed. "You and I have kind of made our peace these last few years, haven't we? We get along all right. Of course, I still have my _work_ - " he gestured at the tangle of net on the ground - "but, aside from that, I can just about put up with your presence. But now there's someone else with power, and brains, and intent, and he's upsetting the balance. I don't like it. It disturbs me. I want him gone."

"I can't really help you there."

"Why not? He's tough, but you're tougher. I'd back you in a fight any day of the week. Trust me, Sportacus, he's bad news. This town would be a better place without him in it. There's something _wrong_ about him. I'm telling you, Evil knows Evil…"

"Robbie, I wouldn't actually describe you as evil…"

"No? You poor misguided fool. Still, I notice you don't exclude the Deputy from the Evil category. That man has some terrible demons on his back, doesn't he? If we worked together, I'm sure we could get rid of him."

"It's not going to happen, Robbie."

"What's the point of having power if you won't use it?"

"I wouldn't expect you to understand."

"Give it some thought. I'd say thanks for getting me down from up there, but one doesn't like to break with protocol after all these years."

--

"Long day?" asked Stephanie, putting her arms around him. "Pixel was _really_ sorry about that thing in the café, by the way."

"Absolutely not a problem." He kissed her appreciatively. "What was it supposed to be?"

"An automatic sock-matcher. The - "

"Sockmaster Six Thousand?" They laughed together.

"So how was your day?" he asked her, stroking her hair.

"Good..." She hesitated. "I had to meet James to go through some paperwork."

"Well, sweetheart, he is the Deputy Mayor. You were always going to have to spend a lot of time with him."

"I know. I just wish there had been someone else…"

"But there wasn't, so there's no point worrying about it. Where's Emma?"

"Waiting behind the door to surprise you. How does she always know when you're coming home?"

Arms around each other, they walked into their house.

--

10) Whatever happens, always have faith.


	8. Chapter 8 Forever True

**Chapter Eight - Forever True**

_From the Oxford English Dictionary_

**Wolf; noun **(pl. **wolves**)

**1** a carnivorous mammal that lives and hunts in packs and is the largest member of the dog family.

**2** (informal) a man who habitually seduces women.

--

_They checked into the hotel separately and met at the door of room 1408. He smiled and took her hand to lead her inside._

"_I can't do this," she whispered. "I really can't. I shouldn't…"_

_He stroked her back and kissed her._

"_Yes," he said softly. "Yes, you can. And you'll love it."_

--

Stephanie had been convinced that Stingy must be mistaken, but he had insisted on having Pixel check, and it turned out he was right. She stuffed the papers into her bag and dashed across town to the Mayor's office.

Over the last two months, the office had transformed from the benign scruffiness of Milford's long tenure to a sleek, well-organised powerhouse. "I can run Prickly Tree from anywhere," James had said, waving a hand, "and it makes sense for me to be here so the townspeople can find me." And so he had imported a huge new desk, a bank of phones, a video-conference facility that Pixel had spent a contented afternoon completely rebuilding, three top-of-the-range desktop computers, two equally hot laptops, a black leather chair and a voluptuous black leather couch. The archive room had been fitted with deep-cool air-conditioning and housed a huge server. James had also installed a coolly glamorous personal assistant, who spoke to hardly anyone, refused to divulge anything other than that her name, Ms Wescott, and commuted daily from Metropolis. Trixie had taken one look round the doorway and declared that she had finally seen the inside of Stingy's head.

James, on his own and on his mobile phone, was shouting and gesturing, but - thanks to Pixel's Voicemaster technology, being rolled out by Kahuna and taking the nation by storm - all in total silence. He gave Stephanie a friendly wave. She sat down on the edge of the couch and took the papers out, watching from under her eyelashes.

_What was it about him?_ He was old enough to be her father; rough, solid and heavy-set; wickedly handsome, consciously charming, totally open about what he wanted from her. His presence repelled and excited her at the same time. Since that day in Smallville, they had established a _détente, _a flirty rapprochement that allowed them to work together. Only once since then had he tried to take it further. _You want this to happen as much as I do_, he accused her, the day he tried to kiss her and she pushed him away. _You just haven't worked up the courage yet, that's all. _His pursuit of her was the only guilty secret she had ever kept from her husband, and she hated that she couldn't talk to him about it. She had tried to tell Trixie, but Trixie was oddly reluctant to talk. _He's bad medicine, that man_, she had said warningly. _Just you stay away from him or he'll eat you alive._

"Hello, gorgeous," James said, smiling as he came to sit on the couch beside her. "No baby in tow this afternoon?"

"I'm teaching," she said, moving up a little so that his leg couldn't press against hers. Even so, she could feel his warmth. "But there's something I need to ask you…"

He looked at the papers she was holding, and she saw his face go still for a fraction of a second.

"You know what I'm going to ask you, don't you?" she said.

"Do I?" He looked straight at her. "Yes, I do. I could lie to you, I was actually going to, but now it comes to it I won't. I wondered if you'd spot it…if you'd catch me…"

"You can't do this," she said. "You _can't_ prioritise people you know on the waiting-list. I just won't have it."

"How did you find out?"

"Stingy thought he recognised one of the names."

"Did he? Clever boy. Did you check first, or did you go on blind faith?"

"Pixel did some research."

_I know he did. I can afford the best security there is; even the Pentagon doesn't have the firewall I have. But still, he's incredibly good, that boy. He barely left a trace in the records. With those two on her team, how could you not find out? But that's my weakness_; _I'm a loner by nature, the power of friendship always takes me by surprise…_

"Why did you do it?" she asked him despairingly. "I need to be able to trust you."

"To make my life easier," he told her honestly. "Much simpler for me to run Prickly Tree if I have my finance and marketing officers in the same town. It's a fucking venal reason, I know, but there you go." He sighed. "I'm glad you caught me. It didn't feel good, giving in to temptation. I came here because I wanted to be a better person, but I guess redemption isn't that easy."

It was such a disarmingly truthful answer that she was silenced.

"You were all geared up to scream at me like a fishwife, weren't you?" he asked her, smiling. "Sorry to spoil your fun."

"I - " she laughed. "Yes, you're right. I was really, really angry with you. I still should be, I don't know why I'm not - "

"You're not made for anger. You're far too forgiving…far too loving and sweet…you're such a good, honest person…such a lovely, loving woman…oh, Stephanie, help me, please help me…"

There was nothing he could have said that would have touched her more.

--

_She felt as if all her bones were melting when he kissed her. His hands slid expertly beneath her clothes, caressing and stroking, already driving her wild and he hadn't even undressed her yet…she couldn't think. She wouldn't. There was nothing but his hands on her body, right now, in this room._

"_Jesus," he whispered. "Jesus fucking Christ. You're divine. You're a witch, making me wait so long for this." As he spoke he was hastily stripping off her clothes, then his. His hands slid between her thighs and he smiled victoriously. "And you want this as much as I do. Don't ever try and tell me _no_ again, you hear me? This is how it should be."_

_"No," she said, ashamed and horrified. "This is completely wrong. I shouldn't be here. I don't want to be here. Let me go."_

"_No."_

"_Please. Just let me get dressed and go - "_

_His hands were hot on her body. "I can't. I've waited for days for this. There's no way you're backing out now. Besides…" he smiled. "You always say you want to leave, and you never mean it. You're just saying it because you feel guilty."_

"_Of course I feel guilty, because this is _wrong_ and we both know it. This is the last time. Never again, I swear." Even as she spoke she was leading him to the bed._

"_It's not wrong. And what's more, you want to be here as much as I do. Do you know how I know? Because if I was forcing you, if there was anything going on here you didn't want…_he'd _be here in a heartbeat to rescue you…"_

--

Pixel shut himself hastily in his room when he heard the raised voices, but he could hear the argument even through the noise-cancelling earphones he jammed on over his ears.

"Will you _stop_ this endless _nagging_!" Trixie threw her hands up in despair. "Just - don't _rush_ me!"

"How is this nagging?" Stingy shouted. "How? All I said, as a completely idle remark, was that _if _you were to get pregnant - "

"I am not ready to have a baby!"

"I wasn't _asking_ you to have a baby!"

"Oh, no, you were just _hypothesising_," she yelled.

"Yes! Actually I was! That's what 'if' means!"

"Yes. Like all those realtor's brochures artfully scattered around the place are just 'if' we happened to be looking for a house, and that application to the Lazytown foundation to join the waiting list was just 'if' we wanted a house there as well. And - "

"How do you know about that?"

"Does it matter? Was it a secret?"

"I - no, of course it wasn't a secret, but how - how did you - "

"It doesn't matter. What matters is that you sent it in. Without asking me. But then of course, that's _fine_, because that's just another _if_. Like _if_ you just happened to knock me up - "

"Can't you find a nicer way to talk about it? You make it sound completely sordid. Having a child shouldn't be like that, it should be wonderful - "

She tried to soften her voice.

"And maybe one day, when we're both ready, it will be. But not right now, okay? What's the rush? We're just getting started."

"I am _not_ asking you to start a family with me right now! _All _I meant to say, clearly very badly, was that if it did happen, _by accident_, then it wouldn't be the end of the world!"

"It doesn't matter, because it's not going to happen."

"You've got that right," he said wearily, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "We seem to fight every time I lay a finger on you…"

"This isn't about whether we'd have some theoretical baby that hasn't even been conceived," sighed Trixie, sitting down next to him. "This is just what we always argue about. It's about you wanting more from me than I've got to give."

He took her hand.

"Please, _please_ don't say that, Trixie. It breaks my heart."

"I don't mean _never_, you fool." _Although sometimes I wonder. Especially these last few weeks…_ "I just mean _right now_. I need time. Maybe when I graduate…"

"That's months away," protested Stingy. "I've had enough of living in this apartment. It's ridiculous, Pixel and I are falling over each other the whole time, and _we_ never have any privacy…"

"So move out."

"I don't want to live on my own. I want to live with _you_."

"And we will. Just - not yet." She stood up. "I should go."

"Won't you stay? Please?" He put his arms around her. "I hate leaving things like this." He caressed her gently. "Come on. Let's make up…"

She wriggled in his arms.

"Pixel's next door."

"That's why we need a place of our own." He unfastened his shirt. "We'll just have to keep it quiet. Come to bed with me, Trixie, please."

"It doesn't seem right."

"It's never bothered you before."

"Well, it bothers me now."

He sighed in frustration.

"So you're not going to let me touch you when Pixel's here, and you're not going to move in with me either? It's been so long, Trixie. Please. I miss you."

"I've told you and told you and _told_ you, stop pressuring me!"

"Are you trying to start another fight so you don't have to have sex with me?" he shouted. "Because if that's it, you could try being honest for a change and tell me you're just not in the mood."

"All right, then. I'm just not in the mood. Make your own arrangements."

"I - what? It's not about _that_, I just want to feel close to you - "

"Bullshit. It's always about _that _for men." She walked out of the room and left him there.

--

Idiom:** "throw someone to the wolves":** sacrifice someone in order to avoid trouble.

--

"What help do you need?" asked Stephanie.

"I - I don't know how to explain..." He hesitated. "You know what I want from you, honey. I hope you know I wouldn't be asking if I didn't think you wanted it too. But it's not just about that…I've never been especially good to women. Good at fucking them - " he saw her wince - "All right, at _making love_ to them, then. But not so great at anything else. I've never really been faithful. I've been with a lot of girls I shouldn't have. Girls who worked for me. Girls I've paid for. Girls who only did it because I had power over them. Other people's wives…"

"I'm someone else's wife."

"I know you're married, but…" he sighed. "Stephanie, if it was just about wanting to get laid - well, take it from me, that's not hard to come by. Fucking hell, even here it's not hard to find someone to spend the afternoon with."

She blushed and looked away.

"But - a couple of years ago," he continued softly, "just after Katrina died - I…I guess fell in love with someone. Very first time in my life. And I was totally wrong for her, and I was greedy and selfish and stupid, and I messed her life up so completely that we can't ever be together again. But now I can't forget her, and I'm afraid of what might happen if I don't…Stephanie, you're the only one, the only girl I've seen who makes me forget, who makes me think I could be a better man than I am. I know you're married. I know you love him. I'm not asking you for anything he'll miss. Just - just be kind to me. Let me have a small part of your life. Keep me on the straight and narrow. Please. I need your help. I need you to help me forget - "

He tipped her face up towards his and kissed her.

--

Wearily, Stingy put his shirt back on. They had always fought, passionately and without quarter, but until recently it always ended in an equally passionate making-up. Sometimes he thought she started the rows because she enjoyed the crackling energy, the edge it gave to their lovemaking. But for the last few weeks…he stared around his room. It was small and badly decorated and crammed to the brim with stuff. It had been good fun living here, but he'd had enough. He wanted to move on. But he didn't dare push her…he wandered into the kitchen and opened a bottle of beer.

Pixel opened his bedroom door and peered cautiously out.

"It's all right," said Stingy. "It's safe to come out. Have a beer." He held out another bottle.

"Are you two all right?" asked Pixel tentatively.

"I don't know," Stingy admitted.

Pixel considered this for a moment.

"Oh."

"Oh?" repeated Stingy, smiling a little. "_That's_ all you've got in the way of advice?"

"This isn't what I'm good at, Stingy. You should know that by now." Pixel hesitated. "So, this isn't the moment to ask about where we're going to base Six Thousand Ideas?" Stingy glared. "I'm only asking, I just want to know where I'm going to be living…"

"I know." Stingy patted Pixel kindly on the back. "And I'm working on it, I promise. It's just - it's just hard, trying to keep everyone happy - trying to hold it all together when I think it's coming apart - oh, God, is she going to leave me, do you think?"

Pixel tried hard to think of something both true and kind.

"She's been with you for longer than anyone else," he said at last. "If anyone can hold onto her..."

"She's not been happy all summer. She says I'm pressuring her. Would living with me be so terrible?"

"Well, you do get a bit overheated sometimes about crumbs on the floor," said Pixel thoughtfully. "But you're not so bad."

"Oh, well, _thanks_. That means a lot." Stingy ran his hands threw his hair. "Pixel, there's something I wanted to talk to you about…when we were back in Lazytown last weekend and I met up with James Thornton about the Freedive project…"

"Did he like the new prototype?"

"He loved it, but - he asked me if I'd consider selling my share of Six Thousand Ideas to Prickly Tree. It was a massive offer, actually. Thirty-eight and a half times our turnover last year for my half of the company."

"Is that a lot?"

"It's - hell, it's _ludicrously_ big. I turned him down, of course. We promised each other, it's just you and me until we've done six thousand projects. I just wanted you to know. In case he asks you as well."

"He's already asked me," Pixel admitted. "That time I rewired his video-conference system."

"_What_? That was weeks ago. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't think it was important."

"How could you think that? _Of course _it's important…you didn't say yes, did you?"

"No, of _course _I didn't say yes. What kind of a friend do you think I am?"

Stingy looked at him, and Pixel could see the hurt in his eyes.

"I'm going out," he said at last. "I'll see you later."

Pixel watched him leave sadly. This didn't seem the moment to tell him that for quite a few weeks now, he had been seeing an extremely nice girl who he had met back in Lazytown, and was now even more keen to move back there as soon as possible. _He doesn't need the extra pressure_, thought Pixel to himself wisely, _and he certainly doesn't need to know there's yet another thing going on he doesn't know about…hey, am I actually getting the hang of relationships at last?_

--

Stephanie's head swam. The couch was soft and yielding beneath her. In contrast, his face was prickly with stubble. His tongue probed demandingly between her lips. His hands burrowed under her clothes.

_This is nothing like_ - she thought dazedly. _I didn't know it could be -_

"You feel fucking unbelievable," he murmured in her ear. "Oh, my God, I've waited for this for so long…"

_But - do I want this? Is it enough that it feels good? Is that really how it's supposed to be? Shouldn't it be more than just -_

She felt his hand moving under her t-shirt and then his fingers were cupping her breast, pinching her nipple.

"Jesus, Stephanie, you have _no idea_ how good that feels - "

_And my body's enjoying what you're doing to it, but is that the same as me wanting you? Is this really what I - ? Is this really - ?_

"_No,_" she said with decision, and pushed him away. They stared at each other, breathing hard.

"Don't stop now," he said, panting.

"I have to. I can't do this. This is _wrong_."

He seized her by the shoulders.

"Don't you dare try and tell me you weren't into that. Don't you _dare_."

"Okay, I won't lie to you, you weren't exactly forcing me." she sighed. "But that doesn't make it right, and it doesn't make it good. You knowing how to touch me doesn't mean I'm going to - I won't do this, James, I won't. I won't throw away what I have."

"Meet me another time. We can go to my place, or I can book us a hotel. It doesn't have to be just a quick fumble on the sofa."

"No. You asked me to help you, but I can't. Not in that way. I won't lose the love of my life for you."

"You don't have to. He'll never have to find out."

"Don't you understand? _I'd _know. I've loved him almost all my life, and I'll love him until I die. There's nothing you can give me that would make up for that."

He tucked his shirt back in and smoothed his hair back into place.

"Go home, then," he said angrily. "Go home to your husband. See if he can make you feel the way I made you feel. See if what you're used to measures up. I don't care if he's a fucking Casanova reborn, Stephanie, I don't care if he's screwed your brains out in every position there is and some they haven't even invented yet. Everything gets dull in the end. Eventually, everyone needs something new."

"Except when you're in love," she said softly. "But you wouldn't really know about that, would you?"

His eyes turned dark with pain.

"That was a bit bloody unnecessary."

"I'm sorry," she said gently, and left the office.

--

Stingy sat moodily on the bar-stool and stared into a glass of scotch. He wasn't drunk - he had never seen the point of alcoholic stupor as a solution to life's problems - but a bar seemed the only place to go to express his weary disgust at the turn his day had taken.

"Hey," said the girl next to him.

"Hey," he said distractedly, half-registering that she was pretty.

"You look fed up," she laughed.

"I had a row with my fiancee," he admitted, swirling his scotch around the glass.

"What's the problem?"

"Oh, I don't know…" he sighed. "I asked her to move in with me and she's not happy about it."

"Why not?"

"Maybe I'm just not good-looking enough."

"Or not rich enough?"

"Oh, that's never been the problem," he said gloomily.

"Really?" She moved a little closer.

He looked at her again, looked at her gold dress cut low at the front and high on the thigh, way too dressy for late afternoon; at her heavy gold jewellery and heavier make-up; at her immaculate blood-red manicure.

"I think I might be wasting your time," he told her gently.

"I wouldn't bet on that," she said, flirtatiously laying her hand on his thigh.

"Sorry." He took her hand off and laid it back on her lap.

"Oh, come on. Don't you want a little fun?"

"Don't you dare," said a voice behind them.

"Trixie!" he turned around and took her hands. "How did you - ?"

"I had you fitted with a tracking device," she laughed. The girl next to them shrugged philosophically and moved further down the bar. "I went back to your place, but Pixel said you'd gone out…can we make friends?"

"We're _always_ friends," he said, kissing her palm.

"Then come with me. There's a taxi waiting outside." She led him out of the door.

As soon as the door of the taxi shut she was all over him, kissing, stroking, exploring. He tried to protest that they should wait until they got home, but she put her mouth against his ear and began to tell him what she was going to do when they got back to the apartment, and within half a minute he didn't care. Trixie paid with a fistful of bills she took out of his wallet while he staggered dazedly to the front door, and he led her up the stairs, stopping on every step to kiss her.

"What if Pixel's in?" he asked at the front door

"I made him go out."

"Bully."

"That's why you love me." She led him by the hand into his room. "Come here, honey."

She was almost too urgent, too desperate, and he wondered for a fleeting moment if she was in a hurry because she wanted it over with. But then she was naked in his arms, writhing against him and urging him on, and he simply couldn't think straight a minute longer, or stop to analyse why she was doing it; it was all lost in sensation. He tried to be slow and tender, but she was insistent and demanding and finally commanding, and after what felt like weeks of deprivation and frustration, he was more than willing to give up the battle for self-control and lose himself on a sudden, sharp peak of ecstasy. Only afterwards, when she was asleep in his arms, her face soft and young-looking the way it had looked that first time, years ago now, did he wonder again: _was it like that because you wanted me as much as I wanted you? Or was it because you wanted to get through it quickly?_

--

_Afterwards they lay in each other's arms and talked._

"_He's a lucky man," he said to her softly, stroking her stomach. "You're even more delicious with your clothes off than with them on."_

_Don't talk about him."_

_"Why not? He's on your mind. If you can think about him while I'm fucking you, why can't I talk about him afterwards?"_

"_I wasn't - "_

"_You were, honey. You always are. That's all right. I don't mind." He smiled. "I just hope he doesn't catch us, that's all."_

_"What do you think he'd do?"_

_"He'd forgive you, he loves you far too much to be angry…but he'd kill me."_

_"He wouldn't. He's never hurt anyone. He's a very gentle person."_

"_Maybe he hasn't hurt anyone so far…but he could. He'd hurt me if he had the excuse. I've seen it in his eyes when he's seen me looking at you."_

--

He found her sitting against the base of the old castle, looking out across the town.

"What is it you want to tell me?" he asked her softly.

She looked up at him and shook her head, but he saw it at once from the look in her eyes.

"Then why don't I tell you? Stephanie?" His eyes never left her face. "You're going to tell me that James Thornton has been - pursuing you since the moment he arrived here. He's been using his position as Deputy Mayor to spend time with you. He's been getting closer and closer to you, wearing down your resistance, trying to convince you that you should give him what he wants. Am I right so far?"

She nodded, tears gathering in her eyes.

"Okay. So…some time today, I don't know where or when, he…" he sighed deeply. "He kissed you. Maybe he touched you. I don't know precisely what he did, but I know that he has been seeking that moment since he saw you dancing that night in the summer…I can see how charming he is, Stephanie, I can see how ruthless he is. The only things I can't see…even though I'm looking right into your eyes right now…are how far he got with you… and how you feel about him."

She closed her eyes.

"Tell me," he insisted. "Please. The way he has been after you, _hunting _you - and the way you felt about it - it's the first thing there has ever been that you haven't been able to talk to me about. So tell me now, sweetheart. Tell me how he makes you feel."

"I - it was - " she swallowed. He had never lied to her in all the years she had known him, and she owed it to him to do the same. "We were talking. He told me about - some girl he'd fallen in love with, but he'd messed it up. I felt sorry for him…and then he kissed me, and I wasn't expecting it - " she saw him close his eyes in pain. "Do you want to know what - ?"

"_Do I want to know _- ?" He muttered something under his breath that she couldn't catch. "Yes, Stephanie. Tell me. Tell me all of it."

She shivered. "There was something you said to me, years ago…that if it doesn't reach your heart, it's nothing. He touched my body, for a minute, but not my heart, and now it makes me feel sick to even think about it…and so I'm even more ashamed that I didn't scream and run the second he kissed me…"

He took her hands between his.

"Stephanie," he said softly, nothing more, but the love and pain in his voice hurt her heart.

"I…I suppose it was flattering to have someone chasing me that relentlessly." She swallowed. "Sometimes I wondered…what it would be like. And then this afternoon, when he kissed me…all I could think about was that it wasn't you. And I knew I couldn't, not ever…" she was crying now.

He put his arms around her and held her tightly.

"I wish I could get rid of him tomorrow," she wailed. "But there's no-one else. I _can't _do his job, if I've learned one thing over the last few months it's that I just wouldn't know where to start…and Uncle Milford isn't well enough to come back to work…and there simply isn't anyone else…"

"So we're stuck with him," he said calmly, stroking her hair. "I know this already, Stephanie. We'll manage somehow."

She looked up at him. "And now you have to tell me…does this change how you feel about me?"

"Because he kissed you? No. Of course not. And not even because for a minute, you kissed him back…love has to be more robust than that, I think, if it is going to last."

"Aren't you - aren't you angry?"

She flinched at the hurt on his face.

"Am I _angry_? Stephanie, just this, just knowing he kissed you, knowing he was even _that_ close to you, is almost more than I can bear to hear - " he took a deep breath. "What is it you want me to say? Am I angry with him? Yes. Am I jealous. _Yes,_ so completely sick with jealousy that I...do I want to _kill _him for daring to put his hands on you? Yes. But am I actually going to do that? No...I have known this was coming, Stephanie, it's been in the air for months. But…as much as I know anything in this world, sweetheart, I have always known I can put my faith in you."

Her eyes filled with tears.

"Yes. You can. I promise. Always…please, kiss me. Tell me you love me."

"You know that I do. You know that I always will. You have my heart in your keeping."

--

_**Idiom - a wolf in sheep's clothing**_

One who feigns congeniality while actually holding malevolent intentions.

--

"Robbie! Come in." James opened his front door and gestured expansively.

"_Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes_," said Robbie mysteriously, holding out a bottle of Glenfiddich.

"What's this for?" replied James, taking the bottle from him. "You going to stay and help me drink it?"

"You're in a very good mood," Robbie observed suspiciously, staring at the back of James's head as if he could look through his skull and read the thoughts printed on his brain. "If you were younger and prettier, I'd say you were…glowing."

"Really? Fuck."

"I sincerely hope this doesn't mean I owe you fifty dollars."

"A gentleman never kisses and tells," said James cheerfully, rummaging in the drinks cabinet. "Here, let me pour you a - what?" The room was empty; the bottle of Glenfiddich was standing by itself on a side table. "Ha. What a strange guy…" he poured himself four fingers into a heavy crystal tumbler, closed the front door and stared out of the back window.

_Pixel, _thought Robbie triumphantly,_ you're a loser, you're so inept at relationships I swear you're borderline ASD, and you're probably going to die a virgin…but at least you'll die a brilliant one. Now…_he leaned forward a little and murmured in James's ear.

Absently, James picked up a pen and scrap of paper and scribbled down the word _MillyMollyMandy13_.

"Molly," he called up the stairs. "I'm going out for a walk."

"Okay…"

Robbie held his breath as James left the house. Then he unfastened the briefcase standing by the door and drew out the sleek white laptop.

"Let's have a look at what you're hiding," he murmured, opening the folder marked _Personal_. It was a series of photographs of women, all beautiful, mostly naked. _Jennifer. Andrea. Shona. Summer. Autumn. Spring…_

("Couldn't nail Winter, then?" murmured Robbie sardonically.)

_Sarah. Thi. Rachael. Ebony. Jill. Destiny. Ana. Kim. Astrid._

"Pussy, pussy and…more pussy. At least you're consistent."

Then there was a shot of Molly, smaller and younger, dressed in blue jeans and her favourite red hoodie, laughing at the camera. A blurry snap of Stephanie as she crossed the square, her long hair flowing around her. And then -

Robbie caught his breath in shock.

A girl with thick black hair that contrasted exquisitely with her pale, naked skin. She was tiny, slender, diminutive, unmistakeable even though her face was half turned away from the camera.

"_Trixie_?"

--

Up in the bathroom, Molly sat and stared into the mirror. The urge was hard to ignore tonight. All the ugly memories, firmly buried at the bottom of her mind, were fighting to come to the surface. She only knew one way to keep them there: to distract herself with pain, to watch as the blood flowed easily out of her skin and dripped warm and salty down the plughole…her father could see she was struggling, he was keeping her on a shorter leash than ever. Making her get weighed every week. Standing over her to make sure she ate. Checking her arms for cuts…

_Well, at least it shows he loves me, I suppose,_ she thought. She picked up the razor blade and stared at it.

_Throw it out,_ said a voice in her head. As if she was watching someone else, she saw her hand move over the bin. Her fingers opened and the blade fell among the rubbish.

"Now go to bed," said Robbie softly. "Actually, no. Go downstairs and eat some cake or something first." He slid unobtrusively out of the bathroom, waited for her to pass him, and then followed her down the stairs.

"You poor, benighted, fucked-up little brat," he said softly to her as he stood in the hallway. "But really, it's no wonder, with _him_ for a father."

On the way out, he paused to open James's wallet and skilfully extract fifty dollars.


	9. Chapter 9 What I Never Want To Be

**Chapter Nine - What I never want to be**

"So, Robbie - "

"Mr Rotten."

The therapist sighed.

"All right, if you prefer, Mr Rotten. My name's Sebastian - "

"Well, of _course_ it is," said Robbie sarcastically. "Did you change it when you decided to become a relationship counsellor, or did your idiot parents predestine you for a life of soppy touchy-feeliness at the christening font?"

Sebastian looked at David and raised his eyebrows. David shrugged.

"Well, Mr Rotten, I can certainly feel that you have a lot of resentment to work through," he said, striving for diplomacy.

"Tell me, Sebastian, is it hard to learn to be a therapist?" asked Robbie innocently.

"That's a question a lot of our clients have. I studied psychology at college and then did a one-year foundation course at the Relationship Guidance Institute - "

"I only ask because if the final output of all that training is _I can feel that you have a lot of resentment_, you must be rather disappointed. All that time and effort learning to point out the bloody obvious to the terminally badly-disposed." Robbie folded his arms and slumped back in the chair.

"Okay, Robbie - "

"Mr Rotten!"

"If you insist, Mr Rotten, then - perhaps we'll come back to your therapy goals later. David."

"Yes," said David at once, smiling kindly.

"Why don't you tell me why _you're _here?"

--

Pixel knocked softly on Stingy's door.

"Are you in there?" he asked.

Stingy opened the door.

"Of course I am," he hissed crossly. "Where else would I be at this time in the morning?"

"Is it - is it okay by you if I get out of town for a couple of days?" whispered Pixel.

"Pixel, I know we might act like it sometimes, but Trixie and I are not actually your parents. _Of course_ it's all right by me, you fool. Where are you going?"

"Home." Pixel blushed.

"To see your _other _parents?"

"Erm…"

"Never mind," said Stingy, yawning. "Have a good trip, say hi to everyone for me. I'll need you on Thursday morning for the meeting with Koduji, though."

"No problem," said Pixel. Stingy closed the door and went back to bed. Beside him, Trixie murmured and stirred in her sleep.

Two minutes later, Pixel was tapping on his door again.

"Stingy?" he whispered.

"_What?_"

"Can I ask you about something?"

"Jesus, _what _do I have to do to get some sleep - don't worry, Trix, it's only Pixel. I'll be back in a minute…" He came out of his room, buttoning up his shirt and tucking it into immaculately pressed chinos.

"You didn't need to get dressed," said Pixel, looking guilty.

"Yes, I did. I can't think in pyjamas. What do you want to ask me?"

--

Molly was supposed to be meeting the rest of the gang in the library to go through some Spanish vocabulary in their free period, but she slipped unobtrusively out of the side door as the rest of them headed up the stairs, chattering, and made her escape.

She had joined every sports team and fitness class she could in the hope of seeing more of him; if nothing else, she thought to herself wryly, she was in the shape of her life. She had realised that he often stopped by Stephanie's dance classes too, so she had also started tap and ballet. But that was counter-productive, because more often than not she saw him with _her_, and although they almost never kissed or touched in public, she could see that he was completely devoted to her…Once, she had hung around for a few minutes after the class, and she had heard them talking softly in Stephanie's office, the door slightly ajar. Glancing through the gap, she saw them kissing passionately, his hands roaming lovingly all over Stephanie's body, and Molly had thought she might dissolve with despairing envy. _Why won't he see me that way?_

More recently, she had found that if she slipped away by herself and just…waited…then more often than not he would appear out of nowhere, and join her for a few minutes to talk. Sometimes he quizzed her gently on what was happening in her life. His questions were sometimes searching but never intrusive; like talking to a doctor, she thought, or maybe a very kind school counsellor. More often, he would persuade her to join the gang and get them all caught up in a noisy, laughing ball-game before disappearing with a cheerful wave. The one thing that had never happened, despite all her hope and longing, was any sign that he returned her feelings, or even that he noticed how she felt. Once or twice she had caught him looking at her with deep concern, but he had never looked at her the way she wanted, the way almost every man she had ever known had looked at her since she had begun to bud and blossom…

She sat down on the steps at the back of the school and closed her eyes.

_Please find me_, she thought. _Please notice me. Let today be the day._

--

Walking, James thought, was not really his thing. He enjoyed the intense, gruelling sessions he put in every morning in the gym he had built in the basement; he had always loved to box; but _walking_? He had always thought it was significant that the one of the very first inventions on mankind's technological journey had been the wheel. But there was no road to the part of town where he wanted to go, and so…

He passed the running track where Milford Meanswell was finishing his morning training session, and waved cheerily. The sight reminded him that his appointment as Deputy was only for a maximum of a year. If he wanted to get his feet well and truly under the table and become the Mayor proper, he would need to move faster…unconsciously he quickened his pace. The place he was going was a crucial part of his plan. Once he had this project under way, he'd be on his way to the Mayoral position. _The more complicated I can make things,_ he told himself, _the less likely it is that that fat fool will ever be able to take over again. Although now I come to look at him, he's definitely a lot less fat than he used to be…_Sportacus was there alongside Milford, encouraging him every step of the way. He saw James and held up a hand in greeting, but didn't smile.

_You really fucking hate me, don't you?_ thought James to himself. _Never mind. Just as long as you keep Molly safe. I can take care of myself…_

--

"So can you tell me a little bit about how you met?" said Sebastian, encouragingly. He was surprised by their reactions. Robbie gave a huge and mirthless laugh; David blushed scarlet and looked away.

"Would you like to explain?" asked Robbie, looking at David. "No? Well, perhaps I will, then. You see, _Sebastian_, David used to work in a - "

"Shut up," said David hotly. "I don't know _why_ you think it's so hilarious to tell everyone we know. It's a completely terrible story, I'm embarrassed just thinking about it - "

"Oh, don't be such a prude. Let's be honest, it's not as if I come out of it any better than you do. Oh, all _right_, then, I'll make something up." He began to speak very rapidly. "One day, I was in a bar, no, make that a _restaurant_, in Metropolis, and this beautiful, sexy boy walked in. He was the most divine thing I'd ever seen in my life, and I knew straight away I had to make him my own. So I got down on one knee before him and said, _David, wonderful David, I think I've fallen in love with you. Will you come back to Lazytown with me and be mine for ever? _Being the kind and loving soul he is, he consented. And we both lived happily ever after. The end." He looked at David. "Is that better?"

"No."

"Is that how you wish you'd met?" asked Sebastian.

"Who are you asking?"

"Either of you."

"Christ, no," said Robbie lazily. "Who wants something like that as their _how we got together _story? Much more fun to say you met in a gay brothel and you only ended up as a couple because he was thrown out for being an HIV risk. Love is for idiots…oh, David, for _God's sake_…" He found a box of tissues on the table and passed one over. David took it furiously and wiped his eyes.

"You're an absolute heartless bastard, Robbie," he said angrily.

"Now _there's_ something we can all agree on."

"So you're not actually in love with David?" asked Sebastian tentatively.

"You know what? I don't even want to discuss this," said Robbie, glaring. "The 'L' word is _verboten_ from now on. Do you hear me?"

"And why does the word 'love' make you so uncomfortable?"

"Oh, don't you start with your endless picking and probing and _why do you think that is, Robbie_ and _I think your discomfort is a sign that we should talk some more about this subject_. I've _done _your job, you know. I was actually rather good at it. Although my one and only patient did have a major alcoholic relapse and nearly kill someone in a car accident…"

"I can understand why," said Sebastian with feeling.

--

As he piloted the airship smoothly over the town, he felt the faint tremor from his crystal, a precognitive warning of trouble to come. He looked out of the window and, as he had half-expected, saw Molly sitting on the back steps of the school, looking lost and lonely.

She was an enigma to him, one that he was still struggling to solve. When he first met her she seemed happy; bright, sparky, popular, saturated with the bone-deep confidence of a girl who has always been the richest, prettiest and cleverest in her peer-group. But he had quickly realised that beneath the surface gloss there was some desperate trouble that he had not yet managed to unravel. Increasingly, whenever he was near her he felt that precursive shiver from the crystal, and sometimes there was a look in her eyes as if she was trying to escape from something that was hunting her…

_Molly,_ he thought to himself as he leapt down the rope ladder. _What is the problem? What trouble are you in? How can I help you?_

--

"So let's talk about what aspects of your relationship you feel need work," said Sebastian. Robbie rolled his eyes. "David, why don't you go first."

"Well," said David hesitantly, "To be honest, I'm not really sure there's a lot that I _would_ change."

"Don't be ridiculous," spluttered Robbie.

"Let David speak, please," said Sebastian firmly.

"Not if he's going to talk such utter rubbish. David, we both know _perfectly well_ what the problems are - "

"Robbie, it really is important that you let David express his - "

"That's _Mr Rotten _to you, and if David is too nice to tell you what needs changing, then don't worry, because I'd be more than happy to do it for him. David, we both know that I'm rude, unpleasant, hypocritical, lazy, sarcastic and emotionally distant. I consistently avoid discussing huge swathes of my daily life with you, I refuse to answer questions about my childhood, I expect far more sex than is decent for a man of my age, I sleep through the alarm every single morning, I've totally failed to take more than a passing and superficial interest in your job, I've recently taken to following you around in case you're off fucking other men, and I never tell you I love you. I'm a monster and we both know it. _That's _the problem, young - Tarquin, or Jasper, or St John, or Archibald, or whatever your name is."

"You know perfectly well that it's Sebastian," said Sebastian calmly, "and I think it's clear that we've touched on a very deep well of pain here. David, is there anything you'd like to say to Robbie at this point?"

David looked at him blankly.

"Did you just say that you follow me around to see if I'm - " he began to laugh. "I've never noticed that."

"That's because you're not very observant," said Robbie crossly. "Fortunately for both of us, I've never caught you at it."

"That's because I never _wou__ld_ be with another man," said David gently. "I love _you_."

"Oh, be quiet."

--

After half an hour's hard walking, James found himself on the West side of the town, by the huge chalk quarry-hole left over from the construction work on the monorail. Over the years since the monorail had been built, the high shelf at the top had grassed over, but the quarry itself remained defiantly bare of grass. The walls sloped inwards towards the bottom, where several years of mud and rainwater had combined to create a barren, sludgy pool in the centre. It was the first ugly sight he had seen in the whole of Lazytown, but he smiled in satisfaction. He climbed over the railing hung with signs reading "Danger! Unstable edge!" that surrounded the quarry, and began to skirt the edges of the hole carefully.

_Say about one metre per stride. Where did the town map say the boundary ended? We'd have to fill in the whole thing, of course…but once that's done, we'd have a decent sized plot of land…this is bigger than it looked on the map. I reckon we could go to six on here if the architect was clever…_

_--_

"This had better be important," said Stingy, yawning again as he sat down on the sofa next to Pixel. "So what do you want to know?"

"Erm…" Pixel looked embarrassed. "Look, don't laugh at me, okay?"

"Trust me, at five-thirty in the morning I have absolutely no sense of humour."

"How do you - " Stingy was unable to catch the next few words.

"Don't mutter like that, I can't hear you. Tell me again."

"How do you - what's the best way to be nice to a girl?"

"What?" Stingy looked at him in bafflement. "I don't know, it depends what she likes. Flowers? Take her out for dinner? Maybe a picnic?"

"No," said Pixel despairingly. "We've _done_ that bit, it all went great. I mean…what's the best way to…oh, come on, Stingy, don't make me say it…"

"You've been seeing someone and you didn't tell me?" said Stingy incredulously.

"Oh, excuse me," said Pixel, in a rare moment of crossness, "How many _years _was it before you told me about you and Trixie? Anyway, I wasn't sure if it was going anywhere. I thought once she got to know me she might lose interest. But she hasn't - "

"Hooray," said Stingy, smiling.

" - and so I'm taking her out for dinner tonight. And then afterwards…well, that's kind of the bit I need some help with. I - I don't really know what I'm doing, you see, and I'm afraid I might mess it up completely."

They stared at each other.

"Pixel," said Stingy at last, "I am not - absolutely _not_ - going to sit on the sofa at half-past five in the morning and discuss sexual technique with you. Go and Google it, I'm sure you'll find some interesting advice. I'm going back to bed."

"But you must know what you're doing, you and Trixie are _always _- "

Stingy clamped his hands over his ears.

"_No_! Don't you dare say it! Bloody hell, Pixel, I know we share an apartment the size of a postage stamp, but can we please at least keep pretending that our bedrooms are soundproof, or quite frankly, I'll probably never be able to do it here ever again!"

"I don't _mind_," said Pixel, trying to explain, "I've got these really good noise-cancelling headphones, but it's not like I don't know what you're - "

"No! NonononoNO! Stop it! That's it, that's the whole of this discussion, and all we are ever going to say on the subject! Oh, my God!"

"What's going on?" asked Trixie, yawning. She was dressed only in one of Pixel's discarded t-shirts, which read _More people have read this t-shirt than your blog_.

"Nothing," said Stingy hastily.

"I could hear you shouting at each other."

"We're always shouting at each other."

"But since you've woken me up, you might as well tell me what's the matter."

"I'm going to make some coffee," said Stingy. "Pixel, I mean it. Never, ever, _ever _try to discuss this with me again. Or Trixie will kill you."

"Why am I going to kill you?" asked Trixie, stretching daintily.

"Er…it's kind of hard to explain…"

"Okay. Well in that case, what is it that you wanted to ask him about?"

"I _seriously_ wouldn't ask that question," called Stingy from the kitchen.

"I'd better get moving," said Pixel resignedly. "See you later, Trixie."

"Have fun," she said, giving him a tired smile. Pixel muttered darkly and stood up.

Just as he was leaving, Stingy grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Okay," he said quietly. "This is my one and only tip, and it's absolutely all I've got, so I hope it's some use to you. Ask her what she likes, and pay attention to the answer."

"That's it?"

"All I can tell you is that it works for me. Trust me, women know far more about their bodies than we ever will. I think it's best to defer to the experts on this one."

"Thanks," said Pixel fervently.

"Are you going to tell me her name?"

Pixel hesitated.

"Can I see if she's still speaking to me this time tomorrow morning, and then I'll tell you?"

Stingy sighed.

"Well, maybe I have got just one other tip…whatever you do, _don't _wake her up at five-thirty in the morning to ask for feedback."

--

"So how's your sex life?" asked Sebastian.

"Fantastic," they answered in unison, then looked at each other and smiled shyly.

"Well, at least that's one thing you can both agree on…"

--

"Are you all right?" Sportacus asked Molly, as he sat down next to her on the steps. "What are you doing out here all on your own?"

"Oh…" she sighed. "We have a free period. I was supposed to be meeting everyone in the library, but I - I wanted to be by myself for a while…"

"Everyone has days like that," he said, standing up instantly.

"Oh, _God_ no, I didn't mean you! No, _please _don't go, it's great to see you. I was just thinking about you - " she blushed, and glanced shyly at him to see his response.

"Is there something you need some help with?"

"Oh," she smiled a little and shook out her hair. "Just the usual teenage angst bullshit, you know." She bit her lip. "Sorry, I didn't mean to - "

"I believe your father likes to refer to it as his New York vocabulary," he said, with just a hint of a smile in his voice.

"My father's a f - I mean, a complete hypocrite. He'd lock me in my room for a month if he heard me curse."

"Well, Molly…" he hesitated. "Your father may not be perfect, but I am sure he does his best. And he loves you very much."

"Oh, he tries," said Molly wearily, "but there are times when it's like living in a prison camp. Well, I know _you _know what he's like, you've seen him in action…"

"It's only natural for a man to be - protective of his daughter," said Sportacus gently.

"Well, I bet when Emma's fifteen she won't have to worry about you beating up on her boyfriends."

"That's because Stephanie and I won't be letting her go out with boys until she's at least twenty-five," he said, straight-faced, and she looked at him in shock until she realised he was teasing her, trying to lighten the mood, and she couldn't help laughing.

"That's better," he said. "Now you're smiling."

"You always make me smile," she said breathlessly, and for the first time she saw a flicker of surprise in his eyes. It was not flirtation, certainly not desire, just… surprise…but nonetheless, it was a step forward, she thought hopefully…then the door behind them opened and her friends tumbled out and onto the steps, bright and chattering, and the moment was lost.

"Where were you?" asked Lizzie. "We missed you."

"Oh, you know," said Molly evasively.

Sportacus produced a Frisbee, seemingly from nowhere.

"Want to play?" he asked her, holding out a friendly hand to Molly to pull her up.

"Oh, yes," she said, smiling.

--

James continued to pace around the edge of the quarry, muttering to himself under his breath. He had been unable to believe his luck when he found this barren spot on the town map. It was definitely big enough for six, he thought. Perfect…

A little shower of earth trickled down the edge of the quarry by his feet. He stepped hastily back from the edge. The trickle became a shower, then an avalanche, and he leapt desperately away towards safety, but couldn't jump far enough. Clutching two handfuls of grass, he slid over the edge and down into the quarry.

--

"Why won't you tell me what Pixel wanted?" asked Trixie, coming into the kitchen. She put her arms around Stingy from behind and rested her face against his back.

"Because it was completely ghastly and I want to forget about it as soon as possible," he replied shortly, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

"That means it's something to do with sex," she said, then laughed suddenly. "Oh, my God, he's got a girlfriend, hasn't he?"

"How did you know _that_?"

"Because I'm a genius. How long will he be gone for?"

"A couple of days, I think. Why?"

Her hands slid down his chest and began to unfasten his belt.

"It's far too early in the morning to think about getting up," she murmured in his ear. "So…let's see if we can't find something to get ourselves off to sleep again…"

It hadn't been like this between them for weeks; this effortless closeness, this intimacy. In his bedroom, she undressed him slowly and lovingly, and as a substitute for a languorous unwrapping, he took her out of Pixel's old t-shirt and covered every inch of her skin with kisses. Making his way up her arm, he came across a series of small, round, blue-black bruises. She winced with pain his lips touched them.

"What's this, Trix?"

"Oh, nothing," she said absently. "I just walked into the corner of a cupboard, that's all. Keep going, Mr Millionaire, that feels absolutely fantastic…" and he began kissing her again, and then she was kissing him back, pressing herself against him and murmuring with pleasure, and he forgot about the ugly, painful bruises in the joy of being as close as two people could be.

Only afterwards, as she lay sleeping next to him, breathing deeply and quietly, did he look again at the marks. Gently, anxious not to wake her, he lifted her arm from beneath the duvet so that he could see them more closely. He counted them. There were five on each arm, each mark about the size of a man's finger. He laid his own fingers over them; they matched almost perfectly. But he had never handled her so roughly in his life. He looked at them for a long time.

--

"So how do you think things between you could be improved?" asked Sebastian.

"You're the therapist. You tell me."

"If you really have done this job before, Mr Rotten, you'll know perfectly well that the therapist's job is merely to facilitate."

"This is why therapy is a waste of time, David," said Robbie, smiling sagely. "Remember this the next time you feel like baring your soul in front of a perfect stranger."

David sighed.

"Robbie, it was _you_ who made the appointment - "

"Well, let's not compound the error by making another one, shall we?" said Robbie hastily, uncoiling himself from the chair. "Come on. I think we're done here, don't you?"

"The hour's up anyway," said Sebastian, who looked shell-shocked and exhausted.

"Thank God for that. I thought I was going to die of boredom." Robbie sauntered out of the office.

"He really does love you, you know," Sebastian told David as they shook hands. "Although I imagine he's a nightmare to live with."

"You have no idea," replied David, smiling.

"He has massive self-esteem issues. That's why he's trying to sabotage your relationship. He's trying to prove to you that he's not good enough for you by being as hideous as possible. But if you can hang on in there…"

"I just wish he'd realise that I _know_ what he's like, and I love him anyway," said David. He ruffled his hair up distractedly and left the office.

--

James slid helplessly down the hundred feet or so to the bottom of the quarry, trying to protect his face and hands from the bruising, brutal stones. He finally came to rest, bruised and breathless, on a pile of the earth and grass that had slipped away from underneath his feet. Now that he was down here he could see the huge overhang that had crumbled as he walked on it. _Must remember that_, he thought to himself. _Don't want to kill anyone…cost me a fortune in insurance and compensation…but first I've got to get out of here._

He took out his mobile phone, and noticed with a flicker of fear that there was no signal. This side of the quarry was sheer and impossible to climb, but on the other side there was the crude access road where the trucks had made their way up and down from the bottom, carrying load after load of chalk. It would be a brutal climb, but there was no other way…he set off across the muddy bottom.

And almost straight away he was caught by the sucking quagmire of mud, water and sand that waited, deadly and invisible, in the mud at the bottom of the quarry, a natural pocket of empty space, exposed by the digging, that had gradually filled itself up again, and now waited like a man-trap hidden in the debris. Within seconds he was up to his knees. As he struggled desperately to free himself, he found he was up to his waist.

_I am actually going to die here,_ he thought to himself dreamily, as the mud sucked him down, deep, deeper. _This is it. What a completely shitty way to go…_

--

On the playing-field, the air was filled with noise and Sportacus's crystal blazed with light.

"Got to go, kids!" he shouted, somersaulting onto the rope-ladder. Within seconds the airship was powering over the town, heading west towards the abandoned quarry. He and Stephanie had always hated the place, and had begged Mayor Meanswell to have it filled in, convinced that one day someone would be seriously hurt there. He had agreed to see to it, but had never got around to it.

As he flew, automatically banking the ship to get as close as possible to the lip of the quarry, his mind turned again to Molly Thornton. Despite what everyone believed, he had always been perfectly aware that Lazytown's teenage girls - and from time to time, some of the teenage boys - had a rather predictable tendency to suffer from a brief, starry-eyed crush on him. Knowing it was no more than a response to his role in their lives, he had always chosen to deal with it by appearing tactfully oblivious, and in a few weeks or months it would pass again. But this afternoon, when Molly had looked into his eyes and sighed, he had seen something completely unexpected…she had looked…_knowing_…

_What's happened to you, Molly?_ he wondered. _I've never been looked at like that by anyone your age in my life. What happened to you to take away your innocence?_

--

James remembered that he had once seen a documentary on how to escape from quicksand. The key element seemed to be _don't struggle_. He had never imagined that he would find out first-hand how hard it would be.

_But that only works if you know you're going to be rescued,_ he thought, as the mud drew him inexorably down so that he was up to his armpits. _Why not struggle? Damned if I'm going down without a fight…like they say, do not go gentle…what the hell is that noise?_

Sportacus landed lightly on the ground in front of him, just out of range of the mud.

"Mr Thornton, you need to listen to me. Keep still and I will get you out, okay? But you have to stop struggling. Please, I know it's hard but try not to move, you're just making it worse for yourself…" As he spoke, Sportacus was hastily knotting a rope into a rough lasso shape.

"Jesus Christ, I wasn't expecting - " James stared in shock. "You - you actually - "

Sportacus threw the rope and he felt it settle around his shoulders.

"Can you get your arms over the rope?" he asked. "_No_, please, you absolutely have to move slowly…if you move that fast, you'll just sink in deeper…that's it. Perfect. Now…" James felt the rope tighten around him and saw it go taut as the other man began to pull.

"You sure you're strong enough?" he asked desperately. "What can I do to help?"

"Very sure. And if you want to help, just don't struggle, please. I know it's instinctive to try and fight, but you need to be as still as you can. Okay, here we go…"

Inch by reluctant, agonising inch, the mud gave him up again. James gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, and kept still.

"Nearly there now," said Sportacus, calm and reassuring. "Now…" James felt hands grasping him under his arms, pulling him horizontally out over the surface of the mud-pool, and then he was free. He tried to stand, and felt his knees crumple. Sportacus caught him and held him steady.

"Take your time. It's just your body's reaction to the shock. It's possible to walk out of here, but I think you've had more than enough for one day, so we're getting out on the airship. Can you climb the ladder, or do you need some help?"

"I'll do it," said James firmly. It nearly killed him, but he managed to make it up the first ten rungs: then his strength gave out. Sportacus pulled him effortlessly up.

"Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine." Every part of him ached from the fall down the quarry-face, and he was trembling from shock and cold, but he was damned if he was going to admit it.

"Then I'll take you home…what were you doing down there?"

"I didn't actually mean to end up down there. I was checking out the site."

"It's a very dangerous place. Didn't you see the signs?"

"Yeah, but…"

"It needs filling in. Next time that might be one of the children."

"I couldn't agree more," said James with great sincerity. "Believe me, it's going to be my number one priority when I get to my desk tomorrow."

"I'm very relieved to hear it."

The airship came to rest just outside his house. James stood up with difficulty.

"I've fucking destroyed your upholstery," he said candidly, looking at the smears and clots of mud. "Sorry about that."

"It's not a problem. My daughter can make more mess in here in five minutes flat than you can imagine."

"I owe you my life," he said suddenly.

"No, Mr Thornton, you absolutely do not owe me anything. I have explained this to you before. Although I would love to see that quarry filled in."

"I wasn't expecting you to show up, to be honest," said James suddenly.

"And why is that?"

"Because we both know you hate my guts. And we both know why. If it was me, I'd have stood there just to watch you drown."

"I can't lie to you about how I feel, Mr Thornton, but that is personal between you and me. This - " he gestured at the muddy rope lying on the floor. "This is what I do. This is who I am. Whatever I might think about you as a man, it doesn't change my duty to you as a part of this town."

"You're the strangest fucking guy I've ever met in my life," said James, smiling, and climbed painfully down the ladder.

--

Stingy looked in the pocket of Trixie's jeans and found her mobile phone. Taking it out into the living-room, he sat down and scrolled hastily through her text messages. He found what he was looking for almost at once.

_Tuesday?_ said the first message.

Her reply was brief and to the point: _No_.

_Come on. Don__'__t tease. I miss you._

_No. Never again._

_You don__'__t mean that._

_I do. I love him. I won__'__t do this anymore._

She had one message waiting; he opened it and read it, unable to stop himself.

_Bullshit. You will. I__'__ll book._

There was no name, just a phone number. Had she done this deliberately so that he would have no way of knowing who his rival was?

He went back into the bedroom and looked down at her lovely face as she lay sleeping in his bed, and knew that even this, the final proof of what he had suspected for weeks now, wasn't enough to make him stop loving her. But just at this moment, he knew he hated her a little too.


	10. Chapter 10 Don't Stop Me Now

**Chapter Ten - Don't Stop Me Now**

Even over the video-conference, the tension was palpable. Mick Jones, who had worked with James since the very early days and had founded his ruthlessly successful advertising agency Big Pig on the basis of the Prickly Tree account, fixed James with a meaningful stare.

"Go on," said James amiably. "Go ahead and say it."

"You're losing the fucking plot," said Mick bluntly. "Moving out there to the ass-end of nowhere - you know it's not even on the fucking _map_, right? Any of them. I got my _teenage son_ on the case last night with Google Earth and even he can't find it. Wasting your time on some tin-pot civic position - I mean, _Deputy _Mayor, for Christ's sweet sake? Running Prickly Tree out of an office where, as far as I can see over this video-link, the walls aren't even straight? Taking Molly out of St Cecilia's and sending her to the _local high school_ - "

"Don't you _ever_ question the way I care for my daughter," said James warningly. "I won't take that from anyone, Mick. Not even from you."

"And then this completely insane brief! _For your eyes only._ What the hell's got into you? This is not Soviet Russia, you lunatic, and you are not the goddamn KGB. This had better start making some sense soon, James, or I'll be forced to conclude that my biggest client's in the throes of some sort of fucking cerebral event."

James smiled.

"So what did you make of the brief?"

"Word-of-mouth whispering campaign to run among the super-rich jet-set, for six allegedly luxurious houses on the west side of a small town in the boondocks that you're way over-excited about," said Mick, shrugging. "Yeah, it's do-able, with the right product, no sweat. What puzzles me is why you think this is worth either of our attention. And what fucking _baffles_ me is why you think people will pay such a ridiculous price-tag for it. I mean, come on. _Opening bids _of twenty-five million each? You wouldn't get that for goddamn Park Avenue. Are you _serious_?"

"Deadly."

"Okay, I really hope there's something you're not telling me, but I'm buggered if I can see what it is…"

James leaned forward.

"I'll tell you, but you're the only one apart from me who'll know. And…if this leaks…I swear, Mick, I'm coming for you."

"Okay, then. Hit me with it," said Mick, sighing.

"This town has a superhero."

Mick stared at him blankly.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "I think we're losing the line here. I could have sworn you said - "

"You heard me."

Mick laughed out loud, then stopped.

"You _are_ going mad. It's finally happening."

"I mean it, Mick. I've met him. I've seen him in action. He's just…he's fucking unbelievable. Fast, strong, powerful. Decent. Honourable. Pure at heart. Annoyingly good-looking into the bargain. You can trust him with your life, with your wife, with your teenage daughters. He's the reason I'm here."

"_What_?"

"As protection for Molly," said James. "There's no better security in the whole of this godforsaken country of ours, Mick. Nothing and no-one can hurt her here. If anyone tries, _he _shows up and saves the day. She's safe from all the world…"

Mick stared in disbelief.

"So, assuming I accept this absolutely insane premise, rather than just writing this off as some sort of delusion brought on by stress or boredom or something…you think he'll co-operate with the campaign?"

James shrugged.

"Actually, no. He doesn't really like me very much."

"Why not?"

James laughed wickedly.

"I tried to fuck his wife."

"Now, why does _that_ not surprise me?" said Mick wearily. "Finally, something that actually sounds like you…Are you ever going to learn to keep it zipped up?"

"Not until the day I die, Mick. Fortunately he's as decent and honest as they come. He still looks out for Molly - and me for that matter - even though he'd love to wring my neck."

"And it doesn't bother you to have a - a _superhero_ - " Mick laughed in embarrassment at saying the word out loud - "to have someone like that put you on their shit list?"

"That's the weird thing," said James thoughtfully. "I really don't think it makes any difference. Oh, don't get me wrong, he despises me and everything I stand for, but - even though I know he _could_, because he's as tough as they come - he hasn't actually tried to do anything about it. I don't know if it's against his code of honour, or something. But the other day…well, I won't bore you with the details. Let's just say he had the perfect opportunity to kill me, and he didn't take it. In fact, he saved my life..."

"So what is it you need me to help you sell?" asked Mick, getting back to familiar territory.

"Okay, the whole area is owned by an organisation called the Lazytown Foundation. Yeah, I know, I guess the founding fathers had an off-beat sense of humour. Legal owner, Ms Stephanie Milford. So, in my capacity as Deputy Mayor, she's my boss."

"And why does that make you smile?" asked Mick suspiciously.

"If you ever meet her, you'll see. So, the plan is this. She owns the Lazytown Foundation. The Lazytown foundation owns the land. All the land, including that quarry and the access to it. She sells that patch of land to Prickly Tree. Or leases it, whatever, I'm really not fussy. Just as long as it puts it outside the terms of the founding covenant. Prickly Tree do the building work and market the properties. The Foundation receives fifty per cent of the net profits. With the other fifty per cent going to - "

"Prickly Tree," said Mick, nodding. "Okay, so there's a nice one-off profit, but…"

"Oh, trust me, Mick, this is just the beginning. Once I've established the principle, I can start persuading her to knock down and rebuild every time someone moves out. I'm not interested in the land, we can do a co-ownership deal if she wants - I just need to be able to get around the terms of the original articles, because that sets us free to charge whatever we like. We can turn this town into the safest community in the world, for people who truly appreciate the price tag safety should command…Mick, we're going to make this the most exclusive community on the planet, for the super-rich elite from all over the country - maybe even all over the globe."

"You sly, conniving bastard," said Mick with deep admiration, then paused. "_If_ you're right about - "

"Oh, I'm right, believe me I'm right. So, you think we're onto a winner here?"

Mick was scribbling furiously on his notepad.

"Yes. Actually I do." He paused. "Maybe. This only makes sense if you're right about - about the - "

"Trust me."

"Well, I can't see how we'll sell it without his input," said Mick bluntly. "If I don't believe you, there's no way in hell anyone else will. Gonna need some footage of him in action. It can be as rough as you like, but if we're going to get the buzz going, we need something to show in the right places. And he'd better be all you say he is."

"I'll get it, don't worry. And I want a full plan including names of potential targets by next week."

"_Next week _- oh, fuck off, James, I've got a ten-day shoot in Mauritius for Kahuna - "

"Last time I checked, they had notepads and pens in Mauritius. You can work on the beach, can't you?"

"You're a bastard."

"Yeah, well, right back atcha, Mick. Hang on, I need to take this call…yes? Oh, hello, gorgeous, how are you?…Later this morning? Stephanie, I shall look forward to it. Anything you want me to get ready in advance?…Okay - then I'll see you later. Be good until then." He snapped the phone back shut and grinned at Mick over the video-conference.

"Fortuitous," he said. "That was the lovely Ms Milford herself. I'll pitch it to her this morning."

"You mean you haven't even got her _sign-off _for this yet?" asked Mick wearily. "Christ, if we weren't such old friends…"

"And if my billings weren't ten million a quarter? Come on, Mick, this is how we've always worked. So. I'll look out for the plan next week. And that's Wednesday by the latest. All right? Be seeing you, pal."

"Assuming I don't have a heart attack from over-work first," said Mick, and cut the connection.

--

Stephanie was packing her rucksack for the day while Emma played around her feet. They had been having breakfast together when Sportacus was called away.

"So," said Stephanie to Emma, kneeling down so that she could look into her daughter's ravishing face. "Are you going to be a good girl today? Or are you going to be a little monkey?"

"Yes," said Emma, smiling sweetly as she rummaged through Stephanie's rucksack. Stephanie sighed.

"One of the two, hey?"

"She'll be fine," said Sportacus from the doorway, smiling.

"Busy morning?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way." He began to laugh.

"What?"

"It's not really fair to…" She looked at him. "Oh, well…Ziggy got stuck trying to climb the clock-tower. I had to get him down."

"What on _earth _was he doing trying to climb the clock-tower?"

"He was…kind of embarrassed about it…but I think it might have had something to do with Marie…did I tell you about the boat?"

She smiled.

"Yes."

"And the ice-cream truck?"

"Yes."

"And the - " he could hardly speak for laughter now. "And the bungee rope?"

"Oh, yes…"

"What is he trying to prove, do you think?"

"Maybe he's trying to be more like you," she laughed with him.

"Like _me_? Why?"

"To make Marie like him more?"

"She likes him just how he is."

"You can see it, and I can see it, but…"

"Phone," said Emma, holding it out to Stephanie.

"That's right," said Stephanie patiently. "Thank you honey, that's lovely." She put it back in the rucksack again.

"Phone!" insisted Emma, taking it out again.

"Yes! Very good. Can I put it away now?"

"Phone," said Emma stubbornly, offering it once more.

"Baby girl, I don't know what you want me to do with the - oh - " the phone began to ring.

"Hello?" she said. "Oh, Aunt Bessie, how are you?…No, really, we're fine, Emma's going to the crèche just the same as always, but thank you for offering…yes, of course, if we're ever stuck of course we'll ring…no, really…I'll try and come round for a visit this afternoon, all right?…Good-bye, Aunt Bessie." She hung up, smiling ruefully, and glanced at Sportacus to see if he was thinking the same as her; but he was looking at Emma.

"Does she often do that?" he asked her suddenly.

"Do what?"

"Does she often know when your phone is going to ring?"

"What? That was just a co-incidence. How could she know?"

She picked Emma up and carried her to the doorway. Her thoughts wandered to the class she was teaching this morning. They were coming along well, all of them, especially Molly Thornton; but Molly's appearance worried her. She was too thin, too fragile…

"Molly sad," said Emma, resting her head against her mother's shoulder.

"What did you say?" Stephanie lifted her daughter up so she could look into her face. It was so precisely what she herself had been thinking that she felt a chill go down her spine. Emma smiled and refused to answer, hiding her face against Stephanie's neck.

For no reason she could think of, James's question about Emma from weeks and weeks ago came back to her. _Don__'__t you worry sometimes that she won__'__t fit in?_

"She's right," said Sportacus, behind her.

"About Molly Thornton? I know. She doesn't eat properly, she's losing weight. And she has these scars - "

"On her left arm? Yes, I've seen them, and I think I know what…"

They looked at each other over the top of their daughter's head.

"I'm going to see James this morning to talk to him about it," she told him suddenly. "I called him - "

"While I was out?" He looked at her reproachfully. "You don't have to do that, sweetheart."

She hid her face behind her hair so he wouldn't see her blush. "Do you think he even _notices_ what's happening to her?"

"He notices everything to do with Molly. He watches her all the time. He does love her, Stephanie, he loves her very much. They are only here because of his love for her. He doesn't really like anything about Lazytown - anything at all, except that he knows I will protect her."

"But what is it that he wants her to be protected from?"

"Oh…when I first met him, he said she was at risk of being kidnapped. But - I don't believe him. There's something else - something he wants her hidden away from. I just can't - quite - work out what it is…"

--

"Stephanie," said James. "You look lovely…I'm so glad you came by. There's something I want to show you. Do you mind?"

"Not at all. But there really _is_ something very important we need to discuss - "

"I promise you, this is even more important."

_I seriously doubt that, _thought Stephanie to herself, but she allowed James to lead her to the huge table.

"Okay. I'm listening."

"Well," said James, smiling. "You know the quarry-hole? I thought it was time it was filled in. And then I thought…once it's filled in…we might have an interesting opportunity to add some value to the town…"

--

Using the back of a bench as a springboard, Sportacus swung gracefully around a handy tree-branch, flew threw the air and landed lightly on the platform at the top of the clock-tower. Stretching down to where Ziggy was clinging desperately to the lightning conductor, he caught him around the wrists and hauled him back up to safety.

"Ziggy _again_?" he asked, trying not to laugh. "I hope you don't mind me asking, but - _what_ are you trying to do here?"

"I'm really sorry," said Ziggy sheepishly.

"I don't mind, Ziggy, I promise. But - is there something I can help you with here? Because twice in two hours seems rather a lot of times to be rescued from exactly the same place…"

"It doesn't matter," said Ziggy, turning away evasively.

Sportacus just looked at him.

"I was just - trying something out…"Sportacus just looked at him.

"Oh, well," said Ziggy moodily. "I don't mind _you _knowing, I suppose. I was trying to do this thing with candles…" he gestured to the grass below the tower.

Sportacus looked out of the top of the tower. Using what looked like hundreds of tea-lights, Ziggy had painstakingly laid out the words: _Marie I love_.

"Er - is it finished?" asked Sportacus, as tactfully as possible.

"Yeah…so you can't see the last word either? I thought not. That's how I fell out. I was trying to see if you could read it all if you leaned over a bit."

"And…the second time?"

"Oh, that's what happened both times. But it's definitely better now. The first time it looked like it just said _Marie_."

"Well, that's good. Er - are you planning on falling out again, or do you think you might be done for the day?"

"No, that's okay, I think I'm done," said Ziggy gloomily.

Sportacus hesitated a moment.

"You know, you could just tell her," he said, and somersaulted out of the window.

"But how is that going to impress her?" Ziggy shouted after him.

--

"So what do you think?" asked James. His face was alight with enthusiasm. "I know we're already at the limits of the Lazytown Foundation area, but there's just that one bit of land left. We fill in the hole, I reckon we could get six properties on it easily…" he leaned forward.

She shook her head.

"I don't think this is really - "

He took her hand between his own. Without hesitation, she took it straight back again. He didn't seem to notice.

"Stephanie, listen to me. I get that you don't want to expand the town. But six properties is _nothing_. And honey, the _price tag_ they could command…all you have to do is authorise the perpetual lease of that patch of land to Prickly Tree. We'll write into the contract exactly what's going to be built there, I've got the blueprints here for you to look at. They'll be nice, I promise. And each one of those houses - each one - will sell for a _minimum_ of twenty-five million dollars. That's a gross of one hundred and fifty million dollars, minimum. Personally I think they could well go for three times that. We can split the profits fifty-fifty between Prickly Tree and the Foundation. I think you'll be looking at a profit of at least a hundred and fifty mill for the Foundation, maybe even more. Guaranteed minimum is sixty-five. Think what we could do for the town with that money."

"But why would people pay so much to live here?" she asked, baffled.

"Because I'll convince them to pay it…and because of your husband. I need two things from you. I need you to authorise the sale…and I need you to convince him to appear in a short segment of film, just - doing what he does. What do you think?"

"No. I'm sorry, James, but this just isn't right."

"Think about it," he continued persuasively. "It's not adding significantly to the town, it won't change the character one bit. Because it's new build, it's outside the terms of the original articles, so we can charge whatever we want. And the money it would bring in…just think about it. All you need to do is to get Sportacus on side. I know if I ask him there's no chance, he hates me. No, don't look at me like that, he does and you know it. Can't say I blame him, either. But if _you _ask him - "

She shook her head firmly.

"No. It's not going to happen, so forget about it. Now there really is something important that I have to talk to you about - "

"Okay, honey, you're not keen. So. Let's take it one step at a time. No, Stephanie, _please_, just let me finish. Do you agree that the quarry is a hazard and an eyesore and basically a useless piece of land?"

She laughed.

"Well, you know I won't argue with that."

"Do you agree that since it's essentially dangerous and ugly, you're not taking anything away from the town by leasing such a small part of its assets?"

"That sounds - reasonable."

"Good. Do you agree that the six extra houses I'm proposing wouldn't make a big impact on the town?"

"Yes, I suppose…"

"Do you agree that it's our duty to do the best for the town?"

"Of course it is."

"And do you agree that the kind of money we're talking about would truly allow us to do some amazing things?"

She hesitated.

"Good Lord, it's the money that bothers you, isn't it?" He laughed. "Well, of course Prickly Tree would make a huge profit from it as well. But honey, there's nothing wrong with making money. Everyone wins and nobody loses. What's the problem?"

She looked at him, those warm, beautiful eyes searching his soul. He tried to meet her gaze, surprised to find that it was hard. _She can__'__t possibly know_, he told himself. _She can__'__t know that this is the thin end of the wedge. Got to stop thinking about it or she__'__ll see it in my eyes__…__holy God, she__'__s so beautiful__…_

"What would you do with the money?" she asked him suddenly.

"Oh, you know, invest it, get it working for us. Money breeds money, Stephanie, the more you have the harder it works for you…"

"No," she said gently. "I mean, specifically. What would you do with the money?"

"Your half or my half?"

"Either."

He looked at her blankly.

"It's _money_. You don't need a plan before you - Stephanie, just think of what you could do with - "

"That's the point," she said, smiling. "I can't."

"_So_? Stick it in the bank for a rainy day. It makes perfect logical sense, you've agreed with me every step of the - "

"The answer's no."

He glared at her furiously, but she just stared back at him, serene and confident. He lowered his eyes first.

"If you'd just _listen_ to me for a second - " His face was white with suppressed anger.

"No," said Stephanie, with decision. "It's not going to happen. I'm not authorising the sale, or the lease, or whatever it is that you want me to do, and I am _certainly _not going to ask the man I love to - to _pose_ for this stupid promotional film, okay?"

"We need the film for the Quarry Hill project to work."

"Then we don't need the film at all."

"Listen to me, Stephanie - "

"No, James, you listen to me. This is a town for _everyone. _Do you understand me? Not just for people with millions of dollars. And I am _not_ going to have you selling it like this. And _certainly _not with my husband as bait."

"He would _not_ be bait, for God's sake. The technical term for it is _unique selling point_, and given that he works for the town, I would hope he'd be happy to put in the small amount of effort needed in return for the millions of dollars it would generate!"

"I'm saying no. Fill it in and let the grass grow. That's all we're ever going to do with the quarry-hole. And that's final."

"My God, Stephanie, how can I make you see the commercial _potential_ of this place, how can I make you understand the _gold-mine_ you're sitting on here - "

"You worry about all the wrong things, James, do you know that?"

"What on earth are you talking about? This is what I_ do_, it's my job. I'm supposed to worry about this stuff. It's part of doing the best for the town."

"And how about everything else?"

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about - "

"I'm telling you, James, that you need to stop worrying about all of this - this _rubbish _- and start worrying about Molly."

There was a short, deadly silence.

_"What did you say to me?"_

"I've been dancing all my life," Stephanie said calmly. James's hands were shaking with rage, but Stephanie held her ground. "And I've been around plenty of girls who weren't as lucky as me…who didn't have someone looking out for them…who didn't realise the damage you can do to yourself if you don't take care of your body. So I know _exactly _what I'm looking at when I see a fifteen-year-old girl suddenly start looking as thin and pale and tired as she does."

"How _dare _you tell me how to care for my own child - "

"Don't you try and bully me, James, because I just won't have it. You need to do better with her. Or you're going to lose her."

"Are you threatening to take her away from me?"

"Of _course_ I'm not," said Stephanie gently. "What on earth made you think that? But if you don't know what I'm talking about, then you damn well ought to. Have you looked at her lately? Looked at her properly?"

Suddenly all the fight went out of him, and he sighed in defeat.

"Yes, Stephanie, I've noticed," he muttered. "I'm not a complete monster, whatever you might think."

"I never said you were any such thing. But - "

"She's - she's kind of struggled since her mother died. It was a really hard time for both of us, and I - well, let's just say I don't think I handled it very well…in fact I screwed up in a fairly major way, and…I thought she was getting better. I thought she'd _be_ better if we lived here. Maybe it's just more noticeable because all the kids here are so damn healthy - at that girl's school she was at in New York, I swear half of them never ate and the other half just threw it up again straight afterwards."

"So why on earth did you send her there?"

"Because it was the best." He sighed wearily.

"You mean the most expensive."

He laughed in surprise.

"Actually, that was pretty much it…how come you're so smart when you've spent all your life living in the back end of nowhere? Look, I'm doing my best with Molly, all right? I keep an eye on what she eats. I try and insist, although God knows she's as stubborn as they come - "

"I think you need to put some thought into why she's trying to starve herself in the first place," said Stephanie softly. "James, she needs more help than you can give her. More help than anyone here can give her. Maybe in Smallville, or Metropolis, there might be a good therapist who can help her…"

"I don't want to take her out of this town!" he shouted despairingly. "It's not safe - "

"What is it that you think is going to happen to her?"

"I - she's my daughter, that makes her a - a kidnap risk - there were threats - "

_Sportacus is right_, thought Stephanie. _He's lying. That's not it at all. But if it's not that, then - what?_

_That's not important. What matters is making him see what she needs…_

"And is it better for her to stay here and slowly fall apart, because you didn't dare take her to see someone who could help her get well again?" she asked him instead. She could see this was reaching him. "Please listen to me. I know you want to do your best for her. You're worrying so much about one danger that you're completely missing everything else she needs protecting from."

"You're such a wonderful woman," he said to her suddenly. "I wish so much…" he sighed. "God, do you know what I wish? I wish that we could step outside time, outside space, and I could have just one afternoon with you. In a total vacuum. No past, and no future, and no-one else involved. Just you and me…"

"Please don't start all of that again."

He looked at her hungrily.

"I can't help myself."

"You're going to have to be stronger than that if you want to help your daughter." She handed him the phone book. "Here. There are plenty of psychiatric practices listed. Start making calls. Find someone you like the sound of. Get her an appointment."

There was a look of strange relief in his eyes.

"This is really what you think I should do?" he asked her, his eyes fixed on hers. "You think I should risk taking her out of Lazytown and find her some help elsewhere?"

_What was he picturing, lurking just beyond the town boundaries? What monster did he imagine was lying in wait for her on the road?_

"Yes. That's exactly what I think."

He hesitated, then nodded.

"All right. I'll start calling right away. Thank you, Stephanie. I - I truly do mean that. Thank you."

--

Ziggy led Marie up to the top of the clock-tower.

"This is a _lot_ of steps," she commented as they climbed.

"I know," he said fervently. He had climbed up and down them fifteen times that morning, trying to get everything just right. But now it would all be worth it. They reached the top and stood looking out over the town for a moment, breathing heavily.

"Right. You stay here, I'll be back soon..." He raced down the steep, spiralling staircase, his heart pounding with more than just the exertion. The candles were all still there, and he raced around frantically, worried that the first ones would burn out before the last ones were lit: but no, he had them all alight within a few minutes. He paused for a moment, then ran back up the steps to Marie. His knees were trembling with exertion and nerves, but it would all be worth it if she liked it, if by some small miracle she felt the same…

She was leaning against the low wall of the balcony, tears running down her cheeks. She turned to him speechlessly and took his hand.

"Oh, Marie," he said softly, stroking her hair. "I didn't realise it would mean so much - I'd have told you weeks ago if I knew you felt the same way - "

"Ziggy," she gasped, and he realised that she wasn't crying with emotion; she was crying with laughter. "Have you actually read - what those candles spell out - "

He looked out of the window, and shouted in outrage. Spelled out in tea-lights that flickered and danced in the breeze, were the words, _Ziggy, you really suck_.

"I saw the kids playing here all afternoon," she said, through gasps and squeals of laughter. "I didn't realise what they were doing or I would have said - oh, Ziggy, sweet Ziggy, I do love you so, so much. You're the only boy I know who…" She leaned against his chest. "What was it meant to say?"

"It was supposed to say, _Marie, I love you,_" he told her miserably, then paused. "Marie, did you just - did you just say - "

"Well, _of course _I love you," she said, looking up at him dewily. "You must know that by now. Why else would I put up with all this ridiculous stuff you've been doing every time I see you?"

"I was trying to impress you," he admitted.

"Well," she said, kissing him, "how can I put this…?" She looked over the balcony again and chuckled. "You don't suck, Ziggy, I promise you. When you stop trying so hard to impress me and just let yourself relax…you're actually pretty damn cool."

--

He finally found a therapist who could fit Molly in, over in Metropolis. The last appointment of the day: five until six, Tuesdays and Thursdays, starting in a week. They could stay overnight in Metropolis, he reflected, go for some dinner afterwards, maybe go to the movies or see a show.

_Will she be safe?_ He thought to himself. _Can I keep her safe?_

_Got to. No choice. I screwed up before. Now I have to step up to the plate and be a good father._

"Last chance, James," he said to himself as he sat alone at the huge, sleek conference table.


	11. Chapter 11 Bad to the Bone

**Chapter Eleven - Bad to the Bone**

Trixie parked Stingy's car on the edge of the lake and wandered down to the edge of the water, carrying a bottle of bourbon. She folded her coat carefully into a pad beneath her and sat down, leaning against a fallen tree.

She sat and drank in peaceful silence for a few minutes, feeling the bourbon travel through her blood and warm her from her head to her toes. Tears slid down her face, and she wiped them away fiercely. It was pathetic to cry: she had got herself into this mess, she told herself, and she would get herself out of it.

Someone vaulted lightly over the fallen tree, and then Sportacus sat down beside her.

"I know," she said without looking around. "Drinking doesn't solve anything. Which makes it even more ridiculous that I'm doing it, really."

"Trixie, if this is truly how you want to spend the afternoon I'm not going to try and stop you. But I'm going to need either your car keys or that bottle, please," he said firmly, holding out a hand.

"No contest." She handed him the keys.

"Does Stingy know you have his car, by the way?" he asked, smiling.

"I imagine he knows by now." She shrugged.

"You mean he doesn't even know where you _are_?"

"Relax, it's all right. I left him a note."

They sat in companionable silence for a while. She offered him the bottle without thinking, and was surprised when he took it; but instead of drinking, he poured out a few mouthfuls onto the ground.

"_What_?" she asked in bafflement.

"If you're happy for me to share it, I presume you don't actually mind what I do with my share?" he asked, smiling a little.

"Well, no, I suppose not, but why would you…oh, okay, I see. Damage limitation. Funny."

"Not funny enough to make you laugh."

"I don't feel much like laughing today."

"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked.

"Oh, what the hell would you know about it anyway," demanded Trixie crossly. "You and Stephanie, you're the match made in heaven, completely loved-up and besotted with each other from the first time you hopped into bed together. My God, I don't think you've ever even looked at anyone else, and I _know_ she hasn't. What makes you think you'd have the faintest _fucking_ clue - " she began to cry again. "I'm sorry, that was unbelievably rude of me. I didn't mean it."

"So all of that was wrong, and you think Stephanie _has_ been looking at other men?" he asked her, meaning to tease her, but not quite managing it. She looked at him in surprise.

"Oh - "

"Well, since you ask," he said, sighing, "Yes. _Oh_. So…why don't you go first?"

"No, I can't tell you, you'll hate me. I hate myself for it…besides, I bet your _oh_ is just that you know that - that _bastard _James Thornton… oh, shit." She stopped in surprise at the look on his face. "I'm right. That's it, isn't it? Oh, my God, you can't possibly be jealous of…I hope you know there's absolutely no chance of him getting anywhere."

"Of course I know. But still…not a good feeling. Now…" he took the bottle from her and carefully poured another measure onto the ground. "Since you now know that I _may_ have some idea of how you're feeling…why don't you tell me why you're out here on your own, drinking yourself into a stupor."

"That's a criminal waste of good bourbon."

"So why don't you explain to me before I accidentally waste the entire bottle?"

"Oh…" she sighed. "This is…God, this is really hard…do you promise you won't hate me?"

He put his hand on his heart and smiled.

"Trixie, I promise that, whatever you tell me, whatever…mistakes…you've made…I will _not _hate you, and I will do my best to help you. Okay?"

"Well…" she picked up a handful of pebbles and flung them savagely towards the water. "Well, like I said…you - you know that - that _bastard_ James Thornton…"

--

_(Smallville, two months earlier)_

"So," said Trixie thoughtfully. "Are _you_ going to tell me what you've both been up to? She looks as guilty as hell."

James laughed.

"You don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"I've never believed in it. She's my best friend, you know. You mess her life up and I'll kill you."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said sincerely.

"Oh, I think you would."

"Now you're actually just rude."

She smiled at him.

"Don't you like rude girls? If you ask me very nicely I'll let you buy me a coffee, and then I can carry on explaining exactly why you need to stay away from Stephanie."

He looked her up and down. He had liked the sight of her the first time he saw her: she had that sexy, dirty look about her that he simply couldn't resist. He could imagine how it would feel to have her legs wrapped around his back, to clasp both of her slim wrists in one of his hands. The softness of her skin…the wildness of her response…

"Why not," he said, and took her by the arm, liking the feel of her, cool and smooth under his rough, calloused fingers. "Let me buy you an overpriced latte in that coffee-shop over there and you can threaten me as much as you like."

She lowered her eyes demurely and allowed him to lead her to the coffee-shop and show her to a table.

"What's your poison?" he asked her.

"Double espresso."

"You too?" he smiled. "We must be kindred spirits."

"Because we like the same _coffee_?" She laughed disbelievingly. "No wonder your relationships never last."

"What the fucking hell would you know about my relationships?" he asked crossly.

"So I'm wrong?"

"No, actually you're right, they never do. Like I said…kindred spirits."

"I'm engaged to be married." It was Trixie's turn to sound cross.

"Oh, well in that case I'll keep an eye out for my invitation to the wedding," he said dryly. "Or am I imagining the faintest hint of boredom on your face when you're with that nice young man of yours?"

"We were going to discuss Stephanie," said Trixie, warningly."So we were. But now I've got you here instead - " she could feel his eyes moving over her skin as if they were physically touching her.

"I thought you preferred her," she said lightly, then bit her lip. _Damn. Didn__'__t mean to say that__…_

"And I thought you were engaged to be married," he replied, smiling his wicked, lupine smile.

--

"I really did mean to warn him off Stephanie," she said softly. "I didn't want him anywhere near her. She's so sweet and innocent, she doesn't know how to deal with someone like that. He's just so charming and ruthless, and so damn sexy into the bargain - " she saw him wince. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to - anyway. I don't know what I was thinking. Because obviously, she knew far better than I did how to cope with him…"

--

They talked for what seemed like hours. Afterwards she had no idea what they had discussed, because all that mattered was the subtext: _I want you_, repeated over and over, with every glance and every touch. When she finally gathered up her things to go, he laid his hand over hers.

"You remind me of myself," he said softly.

"We both like espresso?" she asked sarcastically, trying to hide her sinuous excitement at knowing how much he wanted her. It had been so long since anyone but Stingy had touched her like that. She knew in her heart she should turn him down cold, but her body, her treacherous body, was coming to life under his gaze and their occasional, brushing contact…

"We both like _fun, _Patricia. You're bored with that devoted swain of yours, aren't you? You wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and wonder what you might be missing out on. Don't you?""I - "

It was true: sometimes she did wonder. But that was normal, wasn't it? Stingy was the first man she had ever been with for more than a few weeks; he had known the very worst of her and still he declared that he loved her; he had been her on-again, off-again lover since they were both seventeen years old, and she couldn't imagine her life without him. But still…when he reminded her that it was time they started looking at places to live…when he held little Emma in his arms and she saw that look on his face that said, _Please God, one day__…_when she felt that suffocating fear that she wasn't strong enough to live up to what he wanted, what she knew he deserved…

"I thought so," he said. "I know how that feels. I was widowed a couple of years ago, but, my God, I still remember that feeling. Convinced you're not good enough for them. Guilty because you're all that they want, but they're not all that you want. Looking at other people and wondering…so, honey, do you want to find out what you've been missing out on all this time? Nothing heavy, nothing complicated. Just a bit of fun."

"No I most certainly do not," she said firmly, in a final attempt to deny the truth.

"Come on, Trixie. I thought philosophy was the quest for self-knowledge. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not tempted."

She sighed, and he knew he had her.

"Come with me," he said, taking her by the hand. "I know somewhere we can go…"

He took her to the nearby Smallville station hotel, and as he handed over a roll of bills to the check-in clerk she wondered if he had hoped to bring Stephanie here. It was that feeling more than any other that drove her on, the need to prove to him and to herself that she was still desirable, still the hot little chick who every man on the campus had helplessly lusted after, and a lucky few had been allowed to spend a little time with.

--

"It's such a completely stupid reason to go to bed with someone," she continued, keeping her face carefully turned away from him so she wouldn't have to see the look on his face. "Just to prove he liked me. I can't _believe _how much it burned me up that he preferred Stephanie - you'd have thought I'd got over _that_ one years ago - " she stopped in sudden, consuming embarrassment and glanced at him shyly, but he was staring out over the lake, and she couldn't see his expression. "But it wasn't just that…it was…"

--

His relentless, carefully applied skill as a lover had taken her totally by surprise. Within three minutes and without even fully undressing her, he had reduced her to squirming, sobbing ecstasy in his arms. Then he pinned her roughly down on the bed, helpless beneath his weight and muscle, and took his time in pleasing himself.

"Look at …our reflection," he panted, gesturing to the full-length mirror he had dragged to the side of the bed. She looked, and the contrast between his rough, heavy, hairy, muscular form and her own pale daintiness made her catch her breath. "That's what…what you've been…missing out on…ohhh…on debauchery…on brutality…on being…fucked senseless…by someone…who appreciates you…how you…how you really are…oh, my God…Jesus, Trixie girl…you're just…_unbelievable_…" and as he reached his climax, she felt her first misgivings, the first inkling that she might have landed herself with more than she could handle.

--

"I went back for more," she admitted, talking faster now, still not daring to make eye contact. "I couldn't help myself. No, that's not true, I _could _have helped myself, everyone has free will. I just - I didn't want to stop. I wanted this one last fling. It was like a - a safety valve, you know? I knew there were all these huge decisions coming up…where to live…whether to get married…and I just needed some space…besides, it - it felt good to be admired, you know? Well, I'm sure you do, but of course _you__'__d_ never act on it."

He didn't say anything, just looked at her with the amused and disbelieving expression she recognised from her teenage years.

"And then," she continued, "there was just the - the fact that _he _was in control, not me…I've always been the one telling the guys what to do, it was completely intoxicating to have someone else in charge…oh, my God, did I just _tell _you that? I'm sorry, that was way too much information, I think it's the bourbon talking…"

He took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly.

"So, we kept meeting, every week or so maybe. A couple of times here in Lazytown. Once or twice in Boston. Mostly, we met back at that place in Smallville. I - I hated myself for it, but I loved it too…even though I knew I was risking the best thing that's ever happened to me…but sometimes, you know, it's just _hard_. It's hard to live up to someone so nice. Stingy deserves someone _better _than me, better in every way. And because it's just - just me - I worry that one day he's going to notice -and I'll have missed out on everything else there is - oh, is this even making any sense?"

"When Stingy finds out, this is going to break his heart. But you already know that, don't you?"

She was crying again.

"Yes…I know…and that's why - that's why I have to keep seeing James…I don't want to, God knows I never want to see him again, but I don't know how to make it stop…"

--

The last time they were together, her misgivings had hardened into genuine fear. He had her beneath him on the bed, his weight crushing her, the way he always wanted it. His mouth was hard and savage on her sensitive nipples; he bit her hard enough to make her cry out. After a minute he stopped so that he could turn her over beneath him. He held her arms over her head, squeezing them tight, tighter. When he forced himself inside her, she gave a muffled scream of pain.

"That _hurts_, stop it, please - "

"Shh.""I mean it, that _really hurts,_ I really don't want this, please _stop_ - "

His face was blank with lust. Almost absent-mindedly he put one hand over her mouth so that she couldn't speak, couldn't move, could barely breathe, pinioned beneath his weight and his strength, completely helpless, trapped until he chose to free her, counting the minutes and the seconds until he would be finished, closing her eyes tightly so she wouldn't be able to see what he saw, reflected in the mirror he always insisted on having next to the bed, wouldn't be able to see herself completely at his mercy.

Afterwards he seemed genuinely surprised by her distress.

"I got you off first, didn't I?" he asked casually, as they got dressed. "I thought you liked it rough…"

_There__'__s a difference between rough and__…_but even to herself she couldn't say the word that was in her mind. Could you even call it that when you'd consented every step of the way except the last, when all that had happened was he'd been a little rougher and more dominating than usual? _But never again, _she told herself._ There's something in you that terrifies me. I must have been insane to…Oh, Stingy, my love, now I just have to work out how to make it right with you__…_

Then, when she refused to take his calls, the text messages began.

_Tuesday in Boston?_

_No_.

_Come on. Don__'__t tease. I miss you._

_No. Never again._

_You don__'__t mean that._

_I do. I love him. I won__'__t do this anymore._

_Bullshit. You will. I__'__ll book._

_Free country, but I won__'__t be there._

_We both know you will._

_Not a chance_, she texted back briskly.

_If you don__'__t show up, I__'__ll tell him._

She felt her heart stop beating for a second.

_I__'__ve already told him. We__'__re working it out._

_Liar. You__'__re a gambler. Given half a chance, you__'__ll bluff till the end. But I DON__'__T BLUFF. See you Tuesday, honey._

--

"And did you - " he hesitated, trying to find the most gentle way of asking her. "Did you - meet him?"

"I didn't want to…"

"But - "

She nodded.

--

She was ashamed in every way. Ashamed that she had cold-heartedly risked the love of her life only to boost her self-esteem. Ashamed that she was here with the least possible excuse, simply to keep this terrifying man she had let into her life quiet and satisfied, while she decided what to do to get him out of it again. Most of all, she was utterly humiliated by her body's response to him; disgusted at herself because, in spite of it all, he still knew how to reduce her to nothing but blissful sensation. And then, afterwards, he whispered four words in her ear, "_Quid pro quo_, beautiful," and thus he served notice on her that, having given her that brief, shameful shudder of pleasure, he now felt free to do whatever he pleased…

"I knew you'd be here," he whispered victoriously in her ear as he twisted and turned her body this way and that, hurting her, scratching and bruising her, forcing her to move the way he wanted. She closed her eyes and suffered through it, telling herself that this was just the luck of the draw: sometimes sex just wasn't any good, she was here of her own free will, and God knows he'd driven her crazy with his fingers and mouth just a few minutes ago, hadn't he? She refused, still, to acknowledge that ugliest of four-letter words, the word that had been floating insistently at the back of her mind since the last time she had met him. She showered, she dressed, she said goodbye, she went back to her dorm room in Boston. Ignoring Stingy's phone-calls and the knocks on her door from her friends, she lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling, not moving, not speaking, trying not to think.

--

"So," she said, shrugging a little, wanting to make it all seem less than it was. "That's my reason for sitting here with this bottle and crying on your shoulder. Feel free to despise me. God knows I despise myself. I'm a terrible person, and I don't deserve to have someone as lovely as Stingy in my life. I know what I've done. I just - I just haven't worked out what to do to make it right again - and I don't want him to hear about it from - from - " her voice broke.

"Trixie," he said to her softly. "Look at me."She raised her face to his. His blue eyes were fixed on hers.

"Now listen," he said gently. "I can't fix the terrible damage you've done to you and Stingy. That's something you're going to have to work out between yourselves. There might be a way, there might not…I hope there is, Trixie, because you have loved each other all your lives and I would hate to see that destroyed. No, please, I'm not saying this to make you feel worse. But there is one thing I can fix for you. The thing I can fix - the one thing I can _promise _- is that James Thornton will not come anywhere near you again. He won't speak to you, he won't call you, and he certainly won't tell Stingy anything that he should be hearing from you yourself."

"No." She shook her head. "That's so nice of you, but no. I got myself into this, it's up to me to get myself out. I'm a grown woman now, not some little kid who's trapped in the tree-house."

"And I think this is a little bit more serious than you getting trapped in the tree-house. Don't you?"

"I can sort it out for myself, I know I can - "

"But you don't need to," he said gently. "Let me help you, Trixie, please. This is what I do."

"But how are you going to - "

"Trust me. But in return, will you promise me something? I want you to promise that you _will_ tell Stingy about this."

"I can't, I can't…"

"Why not?"

"Because I'm afraid," she blurted out. "I'm afraid that he'll leave me…_I__'__d_ leave me…"

"But do you want to live your life with him knowing that you have this terrible secret, lurking like a time-bomb? He already knows there's something wrong, Trixie."

"How do you know that? Has he talked to you about it?"

"I think we both know that's really not his style. But trust me, he knows. He loves you. How could he not realise?"

She blushed deeply, and he smiled a little.

"You know what Stephanie would say to you, don't you?"

"Stephanie's never done anything remotely as awful as this."

"Nevertheless," he said. "She may still be right."

--

James was sitting hunched over his laptop, reviewing blueprints for the Quarry Hill project. In the corner, Molly was curled up in an armchair, plugged into her ipod, nibbling on a plate of fruit and absorbed in a strange Japanese comic that she seemed to be reading from back to front. _At least she__'__s eating_, he thought to himself uneasily, looking at her. _Maybe I could cancel the therapist__…__do I dare risk it__…__? Dangerous either way…_Absent-mindedly, he opened the folder which contained the layouts for the publicity materials, and re-ran Mick's rough animation of the film footage he wanted with the sound turned down.

There was a knock at the door and he went to answer it.

"Sportacus," he said blankly. "Hello."

"Good evening."

"Erm - what can I do for you?"

"There's something we need to discuss," said Sportacus. "May I come in?"

"Yes, I suppose so…" James led the way to the living-room. Molly uncoiled herself from the chair and put down the comic. She gave Sportacus a radiant smile, her cheeks rosy.

"So what's the problem?" asked James.

"Actually, I think this is something we need to discuss alone."

James shrugged.

"If you like. Molly, can you clear off upstairs, please?"

"Oh - of course - " Molly gathered up her comic and her plate and disappeared, brushing against Sportacus as she left the room.

"Right. Now we're alone."

Sportacus glanced over at the chair by the window for a moment, frowned, hesitated, then shrugged.

"So tell me what I can do for you, Sportacus?" asked James shortly.

Sportacus looked straight at him.

"You need to stay away from Trixie."

"_What_?" James laughed out loud. "Are you _serious_? You're - you're actually warning me off, not even from your own wife, which I could at least understand, but _someone else__'__s girl_? Are you for real? How is this even any of your business?"

"People in trouble are always my business."

"And that's what she said, is it? That she's in trouble? And now she wants _you _to sort it out for her?"

"Since you ask, no, she didn't ask for my help. She doesn't need to. It's hers without asking, as it is for anyone in this town. Even you."

"And why the hell would I stay away from her? She's free to sleep with me if she wants."

"And what happens when she doesn't want?"

"What the _fucking hell_ are you suggesting," shouted James furiously. "Are you actually accusing me of - ? I might not live the same boring, vanilla-flavoured life you do, Sportacus, but that doesn't make me a goddamn rapist. Trust me, pal, even if that was my thing, which as it happens it isn't, I didn't need to. She was as hot for it as I was. Absolutely nothing happened between us that she didn't choose - hell, that she didn't _beg_ me for - "

The movement when it came was simply too swift for James to see, or to understand afterwards how it had happened. Suddenly his arm was twisted up behind his back, and something slammed him hard against the wall and trapped him there, completely immobile. He tried to flex his muscles to free himself, but it was like trying to push against solid rock.

"Now tell me that you have a choice," said Sportacus calmly, right in his ear. "Tell me that you can choose what happens to you next."

"Are you fucking _queer _or something, you freak - "

"If I were, Mr Thornton, I can assure you that you wouldn't be my type." He forced the arm up a little higher. "Have I made my point yet?"

"A little - explanation - would be good," James managed through gritted teeth.

"You now have exactly as much control over what I do to your body as Trixie had over what you did to hers. I thought it would be - a useful experience for you to realise how that feels."

"Oh, very fucking deep," James gasped, trying to ignore the growing pain in his arm. "What happened to violence being the last bastion of the intellectually bankrupt?"

"Be quiet, please, because I need you to listen to me. She has made her feelings more than clear. Whatever was between you, is over. You need to leave her in peace. And you don't try, ever again, to blackmail her into being with you when she doesn't want to be. Do we understand each other?"

"Fuck me, you really _did_ have a heart-to-heart, didn't you? _Ouch_ - hell's teeth, man, what's the _matter _with you - all _right_! Maybe I was a bit over-eager to keep seeing her. Clearly this matters a lot more to you than it does to me, so on that basis, yes, I'll promise."

Sportacus let him go.

"Don't stand there looking at me like that with your arms folded, acting like you don't know why I wanted her," growled James, rubbing his arm. "Your lovely wife is exactly the same age as she is…"

Sportacus looked at him with undisguised contempt.

"I would rather live the rest of my life lonely, than force someone into my bed knowing that they didn't want to be there."

"Easy to say when you've got that angel girl of yours next to you every night…and don't imagine I'm agreeing to this because I'm scared of you, because we both know you had your chance the other day and you didn't take it. Trixie was getting boring anyway. Don't think you're going to stop me from taking whatever and _whoever_ I want from this town, Sportacus, because - _Jesus fucking Christ, _that _hurts_, what the hell do you think you're doing, you - "

Sportacus slammed him up against the wall again. This time the arm was wrenched higher and harder.

"Just so we're clear," he said softly. "I swore to protect everyone in Lazytown, and that includes you. However much I despise you personally, my oath comes first. So, most unfortunately, you are absolutely right; if I have to, I will give my life to protect yours." He paused. James gritted his teeth: he was sweating with pain. "But if you ever, _ever_ do anything to hurt Stephanie… I will forget every principle I have ever tried to live my life by, I will forget my duty to this town, my loyalty to you, and the laws of this land where we both live, and _I - will -_ _kill you_. Do we understand each other, Mr Thornton?"

He closed his eyes in agony.

"And that's you giving me your sworn loyalty, is it? Let go of me and then fuck off out of my house."

"You have my loyalty as the Deputy Mayor, to help you care for and protect the people of this town. And I _will_ protect them. Especially from you." One more brutal twist, and then James was free. "Goodnight."

--

At the end of the street, Sportacus stopped and turned around.

"I know perfectly well that you're there, Robbie," he said wearily. "I have no idea how James Thornton couldn't see you, but clearly it doesn't work on me."

"Well, you're in a charming mood tonight." Robbie looked him up and down. "Why didn't you tell him I was there?"

"It didn't seem like any of my business."

"You mean you hate him even more than you hate me."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Robbie, but I don't hate you."

"What a shame. After all my hard work, too…mind you, I can't say I'm complaining about being around to watch the show. That was just - well, frankly, it was all rather impressive. I saw a side of you I'd never suspected the existence of before." He sat down on a nearby bench. "It was really quite a turn-on, to tell you the truth," he continued thoughtfully. "What a pity I never managed to rile you up enough to persuade you to slam _me _up against the wall like that. We might have found a whole new…understanding of each other."

Sportacus couldn't help smiling.

"You sure I can't tempt you?" continued Robbie, deliberately flirtatious. "It would be a _damn_ shame to die wondering…"

"Well, Robbie, if I ever do wonder, I promise I'll come and knock on your door first. Although I imagine David might have something to say about it."

"Oh, _he__'__s_ had a crush on you since the day you saved his life. Trust me, you'd be fighting us both off…oh, do stop laughing. _Must_ you be so goddamn tolerant and understanding all the time? Is just a _little_ old-style macho homophobia too much to ask for? It really makes it very hard to tease you…so, do you want to talk me through that little performance in there?"

"And why on earth would I want to do that?"

"Aha. And _now_ I've found the raw spot…" Robbie sighed in satisfaction. "It makes you feel uncomfortable thinking about it, doesn't it? How good it felt, I mean. You finally let yourself off the leash and pushed him around a little bit. Now he knows he isn't the biggest dog in town after all…maybe you should have done it before now. It might have saved us all some trouble…"

"No, Robbie, I really don't think so."

"No? You got what you wanted, didn't you?"

"What Trixie needed."

"So you didn't enjoy doing that to him, even a little bit? Now _that_ I find hard to believe. Anyway, silly girl, she should have known better than to fool around with him…."

"Do you have _any idea _what he - "

"I can imagine," said Robbie, shrugging. "What can I say? Some people like to play rough. But will you at least concede that a little judiciously applied violence might occasionally have a role to play in keeping the peace?"

Sportacus looked at him bleakly and shook his head.

"Oh, don't beat yourself up about it. It was absolutely marvellous. I have a new-found respect for you."

"Actually I think I may have made a terrible mistake. All I've done now is make him furious."

"So?"

"So now he's going to try and prove himself."

"Well, he isn't going to take _you_ on again in a hurry," said Robbie with feeling. "My God, now I finally know what you're like when you're really angry, I'm almost wondering about hanging up my super-villain boots once and for all. You're one scary bastard when you're upset, you know that?"

"Well, thank you…I think…but I am not in the least bit worried about him coming after me."

"So who _are _you worried about then?" asked Robbie curiously.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm afraid he is going to do something…terrible…"

"Good thing we've got you to keep us all safe then," said Robbie, shrugging.

--

"Sanctimonious mother-fucker," muttered James, glaring at the closed front door. His arm and shoulder were on fire; it felt as if he might have torn a muscle. He hated to lose any sort of fight, but a physical fight most of all. It reminded him of the days before he had power…

…_that terrible year when he turned twelve and his grandfather told him what he referred to, awkward and embarrassed, as the facts of life. And then afterwards his sister, stoned and laughing like a lunatic, told him what James had always thought of as the _other _facts of life, about what had happened to their father and why…and he had wished fiercely that he could have known at the time, that he could have stopped what his father had done to his sister, that he could have been a man for the women in his life…_

He desperately wanted to get laid. He wanted the power and the release that went with having some beautiful young thing writhing in his arms, crying out, begging him…he reached for his phone. _I could get in touch with Trixie. Just because I promised doesn't mean I have to keep it…no. It's run its course anyway. _Even to himself, he would not admit that he was afraid.

"Dad?" Molly was hanging over the banisters, her eyes wide. "Is everything all right? Has - has Sportacus gone?"

He looked at her in silence for a long time.

"Go to bed," he told her at last.


	12. Chapter 12 One Way Or Another

**Chapter Twelve - One Way Or Another**

James sat at his desk and surveyed his cryptic master-list with satisfaction. He was making progress; not as much as he would have liked in some areas, but he was moving inexorably towards his objective.

The list read:

_- Integration  
__- Power-lines: ?Partnership ??Marriage??  
__- Seat at table  
__- Quarry Hill  
__- Like minds_

_Integration_ was well under way. He knew his neighbours; people smiled and greeted him when they saw him. Like many successful men, he was unable to distinguish between respect and liking; had it occurred to him to make the comparison, he would in any case have opted for respect ten times out of ten.

_Power-lines, _he admitted, was not working out as he had planned. He had spotted almost immediately the compelling importance of the group consisting of Stephanie, Trixie, Stingy and Pixel, but had become…distracted…by the beauty and desirability of the two girls. More recently, it had crossed his mind to marry Trixie and cement his place at the centre of Lazytown life. She was ferociously bright, thus perennially useful as the wife of a successful man; she was wild and wicked and sexy as hell; and, given how they'd got together, she would hardly be in a position to complain about his behaviour afterwards. Unfortunately, it hadn't worked out (_why the hell did she go cold on me?_ he wondered idly), but at least he'd driven a wedge between her and her fiancé. Stingy wasn't stupid; he must know that Trixie had been playing away. And, while he was unhappy and vulnerable, he'd be open to James's proposals for Six Thousand Ideas…or, alternatively, he'd get to that weirdo Pixel. Either way, he was bringing that little powerhouse under the Prickly Tree umbrella and establishing them in Lazytown as his tame execs.

_Seat at table_ - thanks to Meanswell's heart attack, that one really had fallen into his lap. But on the other hand, he'd taken full advantage. With every day that passed, the financial affairs of Lazytown became more complicated. Capital that had sat peacefully on deposit for years was trickling out into hedge funds and commodities futures. He had the hottest lawyers at Weston/Bronte unpicking the seemingly iron-clad legal structure restricting the leasing process. And in the meantime, he could use his Mayoral veto on new residents. He was supposed to run every new application past Stephanie, but it was easy to let one or two slide under the radar and be either approved or declined, according to how it suited him…and his own people were creeping up the queue…

As he reached _Like Minds,_ the man he was thinking of slid nonchalantly in through the door.

"Robbie," said James, smiling. "Thanks for coming by."

--

Stephanie and Bessie were sitting in the park, watching Emma chasing pigeons.

"Stephanie," said Bessie tentatively.

"Yes?"

"What do you think of Mr Thornton?"

Stephanie looked at her aunt in amazement.

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean," said Bessie firmly, then looked at her niece's expression. "Oh, I didn't mean - that…although I suppose that's partly it…I meant - as a person. As a Mayor."

"You mean…compared to Uncle Milford?"

Bessie sighed.

"Yes…"

"Well," said Stephanie, trying to be fair, "he does get things done quickly. He's sorting out that quarry-hole, for example. The applications seem to be running smoothly. And the new-business approvals are going well, although he does keep nagging about the - " she stopped suddenly, knowing what a sensitive subject the liquor ban was for Bessie.

"But?"

"But…" Stephanie sighed, thinking about the long, growing list. That time he'd fiddled the waiting-list to get his people further up. His Quarry Hill project, which would undermine at a stroke the most simple principle of Lazytown life - that it wasn't about the money. The way he was with his daughter, both over-protective and careless, supervising her every movement but refusing to get her the help she needed…_If there was anyone else…if I thought I could do it…but, God help us all, he's who there is, and now he's sworn in for the year…_

"I don't trust him," said Bessie suddenly, into the silence. "That's what it is, Stephanie. I don't trust him. I can see why your Uncle admires him. I can _certainly_ see why Robbie gets on so well with him. But men don't see what women see…"

"There wasn't any choice," Stephanie reminded her aunt. "Everyone likes to live here, but no-one actually wants to run it. I wish - I wish I could have done it, but I'd have been worse than useless, Uncle Milford would have had to work twice as hard just keeping me on the right track. It was him or no-one."

"I know," said Bessie despairingly. "But - oh, Stephanie, what are we going to _do_? You know your uncle - if he was well enough, he'd be back tomorrow, but he still gets so tired - "

"I keep an eye out," said Stephanie, trying to sound confident. "I'll just have to - keep checking. I've caught him out a couple of times already, but he backed down. I think as long as I catch him - "

"But what if he stops caring?" asked Bessie. "What if he stops minding what you think?"

"I'm still the legal owner."

"But if he wanted to steam-roller over you…if he really wanted to do something… could you actually stop him?"

"We'll manage," said Stephanie firmly. "We've got to."

--

"So what can I do for you, Deputy Dawg?" asked Robbie.

"Ho ho ho fucking ho."

"Oh, I'm sorry," said Robbie, looking contrite. "Does it _annoy _you when I make jokes about you only being the _Deputy_ Mayor? I'll try and remember not to…"

"Don't bother on my account," said James shortly. "I need to ask for your advice."

"Again?"

"You're my eyes and ears in this town, Robbie…although Christ knows how you know even half of what you know…"

"I have my sources." Robbie shrugged.

"Useful for me, anyway." _And the day I find them is the day I ditch you and run you out of town, you irritating old queer._ "If I wanted to capture our boy in blue on film, doing something suitably spectacular, how would you recommend I go about it?"

"Aha," said Robbie, settling himself more comfortably into the chair.

"What the hell do you mean, _aha_?"

"This wouldn't be anything to do with your plans for that quarry-hole, would it?"

"How did you - " James stopped in exasperation. "Never mind. Well, it might have something to do with that, yes."

Robbie put his fingers together and looked at James over the top of them.

"Well, it really depends on what you have in mind," he said thoughtfully. "If it's just stills you want, I'd suggest you do a quick tour of the girls' lockers. They've all got snapshots of him on their doors - including your own delicate little flower. Does it _worry_ you that she's besotted with a married man, by the way? Or would you prefer her to be hankering after that skinny dreadlocked boy, what's his name, Dante? Tell me, James, was it the hairstyle that bothered you so much? Or the colour of his skin? Just wondering. I thought it was rather a nice contrast, myself - bitter chocolate and vanilla - but of course I don't have a father's feelings."

"You know, I wouldn't have thought the contents of the _girls_' lockers would have been that interesting to you," said James, trying to hide his irritation. _Just let him ramble, he always gets to the point in the end_… "Stills won't cut it. I need some moving footage."

"Mmm." Robbie considered this for a minute. "Well, it's not hard to orchestrate, is it? Just…oh, let's pick something completely at random…why don't you fall into that sucking mud-pit into the bottom of the quarry-hole, for example, and make sure there's a video-camera handy?"

_How did you find out about that, you fucking know-it-all freak?_ "I need a few of the kids to be involved. And…I can't have him knowing he's being filmed."

"He turned you down already, did he? Well, he's a hero, but of course he's not a saint. If you will try and get his wife's knickers off on such a regular basis, he's going to be uncooperative when you need a favour. To be honest, I'm surprised he hasn't come looking for you already, and shown you what he's like when he _really_ gets his rag out." Robbie's pale grey eyes gazed knowingly at James, who stared back with his best poker face. _No way you can know about that. No way in this world. We were all alone in the room…_

"I didn't bother asking him."

"Wise man."

"You gonna be an even wiser man?"

"What _can _you mean, I wonder?"

"You going to help me out?"

"Are you asking me to help you?"

"Right now I'm asking," said James silkily. "Right now, I'm even saying _please_."

Robbie gave him a penetrating stare.

"Never offend a Sicilian," he said thoughtfully. "Clearly you have something up your sleeve if I say no. Naturally, peerless coward that I am, if it's any good at all then I'm probably going to cave in. But, just so I know what you imagine you've got on me…No, Mr Thornton. I refuse your request for help. My principles forbid me to betray the man who - no, I can't possibly claim to be his _friend_, even you won't fall for that…oh, the hell with it. I don't have any principles; I'm going to say no just because it amuses me to annoy you."

"And because you want to see what I've got on you."

"Oh, that too," Robbie agreed affably. James smiled.

"Your boyfriend, David."

"My _housemate_, David," Robbie corrected him.

"Boyfriend, housemate, houseboy, pool-boy, whatever you want to call him. That gorgeous bit of fluff who lives in your house at your expense and repays you with the use of his body."

"You might think that," said Robbie, smiling lasciviously, "but I, being a gentleman, couldn't _possibly _comment."

"Let me put it another way," said James. "Your _whore_, David."

Robbie raised a quizzical eyebrow, but James saw that his lips were white.

"He used to be a working boy," said James calmly. "Ain't nobody going to argue with me on that one. Especially since there's that oh-so-hilarious story doing the rounds about how you two met, the one you like to tell everyone from your maiden aunt to the barman at the _Bierkeller_. You haven't bothered to marry him; there's no legal arrangement; he doesn't even have a tenancy agreement to support your _housemate_ story. In fact, you make a point of explaining to the world and his plug-ugly dog that you're not in love with him, it's just a mutually convenient arrangement. He fools around with some ten-cent job on the side, lighting technician or something, but nothing like what he needs to keep him in the style he so plainly enjoys. Logical deduction; you're bankrolling him. It wouldn't take a whole lot of squinting to see that as paying for sexual favours. Therefore technically, David is _still_ selling himself, and as a responsible Mayor - "

"Ahem," said Robbie, raising an apologetic hand.

"_Deputy _Mayor, whatever - it would be my duty to arrange prosecution accordingly."

"I see." Robbie stretched and stared at the ceiling. "Of course, I could point out that most long-term relationships involve the exchange of money for sexual favours - how would your own society marriage stack up against your _scrupulous_ standards? Did your wife bring the money, I wonder? Or the beautiful body you just couldn't get your hands on any other way? No, don't feel obliged to answer, just something to think about. But nonetheless…damn. I think I'm going to have to fold. All right. You got it. I'm in."

--

Mick Jones, followed by a middle-aged man wearing filthy jeans and cradling a state-of-the-art video-camera in a LowePro bag, marched into the Mayor's office.

"You're thirty-eight minutes late," said James, without looking up.

"For Christ's sweet sake," said Mick, stalking across the floor. "Do you know how hard it is to find this place? We got lost eight _fucking_ times on the way. And then sneaking around yesterday, and then again this morning, trying to blend in - are you _nuts_, making me do a Gonzo shoot? We're lucky we didn't get arrested - I ask you, the _high school playing fields_? Could you have specified anywhere more inappropriate to be caught with a video-camera? And I don't even want to _think_ about what we've got coming up this afternoon, James, you'd just better be right that he's going to perform like you've promised - "

The man with the camera gave James a thumbs-up sign and laid his bag carefully on the table.

"Good to see you too, you miserable old sod," said James, slapping Mick affectionately on the back. "I hope you've got something wonderful to show me, or you're fired."

--

"Down there? Seriously?"

"Are you chickening out on me?"

David looked suspicious.

"You go first."

"You're pathetic. All right." Robbie disappeared down the entrance. David took a deep breath, and followed.

"Oh my God," he said, looking around. "Oh, my _God_. This place is just - it's just - you actually used to _live_ here?"

Robbie shrugged.

"Home is where you hang your hat," he said lightly.

"And you lived here all alone?"

"You're the…" Robbie counted on his fingers. "The fifth person ever to come down here."

"Who were the other four?"

"Me and three…guests. They didn't come together, by the way, so don't go picturing some well-lubricated dinner-party. In fact, now I come to think of it, I didn't actually invite _any_ of them. Take a look around, make yourself at home. Just don't sit in the fluffy orange chair. I'll see if I can find some cake…" He disappeared from view.

David wandered around. Five perspex tubes stood on a platform, each one containing a theatrical costume. On a table, a collection of wires, silicon chips and random junk to rival Pixel's lay carelessly scattered. He opened a cupboard door, and yelled in shock when what looked like the body of a girl fell out towards him. Then he saw the huge key in her back and realised he was looking at a life-size, very beautiful - and, seemingly, anatomically correct - clockwork doll.

"What on earth have you got there?" asked Robbie irritably. "Oh, _her_…she was just an idea that didn't really work out…nonono, don't you _dare_ wind her up, you've got no _idea_…just put her back in there. _Nicely._ You don't want to get on her bad side."

"What _is_ all this stuff?" asked David, looking blankly around at the machines scattered everywhere.

"I'm an inventor," said Robbie, waving a casual hand.

"Like Pixel?"

"Well, I resent the comparison, but…like a very urbane, charming, sexually alluring and financially astute version of that klutzy lunatic, yes."

"What have you invented?"

"Well, Velcro was one of my earliest," said Robbie, smiling.

"_What?_ I thought that was NASA, everyone knows that…"

"Nope. _Sold _it to NASA, but I own the patent."

"Why didn't you tell everyone?"

"Too much trouble. Post-its, that was another one of mine - oh, don't believe what 3M Corp like to tell you, I hung onto the intellectual property rights. A few other bits and pieces. What?"

"That's completely cool," said David in admiration.

"Well, that's what I do for a living. What I do as a _hobby_ - " Robbie took David by the hand and led him over to the periscope.

--

The office was filled with the smell of nervous sweat. A piece of film, edited together on the software James had had specially installed, was playing on the screen in front of them. James was watching the screen, his face an unreadable blank. Mick was watching James. The cameraman sat calmly at the end of the table, reading a copy of the _National Enquirer_ and wolfing down doughnuts.

"Stop there," said James suddenly. Mick pressed the stop button. "Rewind fifteen seconds. Now play…Okay. Keep going. In fact, give that to me." He took the remote control out of the other man's hand and used it to stop the DVD at intervals, scrolling endlessly backwards and forwards through seemingly random segments of footage.

"Pretty girl," he explained with an evil grin, after watching one long shot of the main street of Lazytown seven times over. Mick grunted in exasperation but held onto his temper.

"Hmmm," he said when the DVD came to an end. "Is that Molly on the central section?"

"Is that a problem?" asked Mick wearily. "I'm sure we can find something else…"

"Never said it was a problem. Do you think it's a problem, Mick?" His eyes rested on the man's face, enjoying his discomfort. "What you want to say," he continued, "is, _I couldn't care less, this is the seventeenth fucking edit of a five-minute piece of footage, I've been travelling for two days to get here, and I__'__ve lost the will to live_. I know, I'm a bastard to work for. Sorry and all that. Fortunately…I think we're pretty much there. Just the - missing footage to add in. Well done. Really."

"And when do we get the missing stuff?" asked Mick.

"You still don't believe me, do you?"

"Not until I see it. And maybe not even then."

"We'll get a shot this afternoon. One. You okay with that, Paul?"

"No worries," said the cameraman, without looking up from his doughnut.

"You'll be hiding in a kid's treehouse," warned James.

"Really? Cool."

"Paul normally does wildlife," Mick explained. "He just got back from a shoot about bats."

"Fifteen weeks sitting in a cave on a mountain of guano, with a colony of twelve million bats adding to it daily," said Paul laconically, checking his batteries.

"Huh. Well, hopefully this'll be a little bit less…shit-splattered. On the minus side, there'll be _one_ chance, and that's it."

"How do you know it's going to happen at all?" asked Mick curiously.

"I've got a man on the inside. He'll sort it, believe me." _Or I swear to God, I really will have that little fuck-buddy of his run out of town for soliciting._ "You sure you'll get the footage?"

"I _always_ get the footage." Paul spoke with the calm confidence of the consummate professional, and James was reassured.

"Good man." James checked his watch. "Okay, let's go."

--

David stared in fascination through the periscope.

"This is just incredible," he said softly. "You can see everything...everyone…" he turned around and jumped out of his skin.

"Who the hell - "

"Don't you recognise me?" asked the man in the military fatigues. "I'm flattered, but I thought that you of all people would…"

David stared.

"It's me, you idiot," said the man irritably. "Look." He took off his cap. "Is that better?"

"Robbie," said David, still staring. "How did you - that's just incredible. I honestly didn't recognise you."

"But you can see it now?" said Robbie, putting the cap back on.

"Yes, straight away…my God, that's so weird. How did I not see it before?"

Robbie shrugged. "That's show-business, darling. Only seems to work once, unfortunately."

"What are you going to do dressed up like that?"

"An excellent question. Tell me, David, what makes life here so special? Apart from sharing room and board with me, which I'm _sure _was going to be first on your list."

David shrugged.

"Sportacus, of course."

"Of course. Our deliciously straight and well-intentioned hero. And what does every hero need, to make his life interesting, and keep him on his toes?" David hesitated. "Come on, David, I thought you were a comics buff."

"A - well, a villain, I suppose."

"Absolutely! I believe I told you when you first came here that villainy is what I specialise in…"

"Actually, you told me you were a genius."

"Name me a villain who isn't a genius. Next good question; _why am I showing all of this to you now?_ I know you want it to be me finally deciding to share my true self with you, but the truth is rarely that noble. The fact is…there's someone else in town now, who is much, much more villainous than I've ever been. And he's kind of…backed me into a corner…and, much as I hate it, I seem to be working for him. But still…_He beats me, and I rail at him; would it were otherwise…_and, with that in mind, I'm going to need you, to help me show him he doesn't know quite everything about this town after all…"

--

Paul sat soundless and motionless in the tree-house, glued to the screen of his camera. The oddest scene of his career was unfolding below him. A strangely lanky man in military fatigues had beguiled a group of ten-year-olds into pitching his tent, stringing his hammock, filling it with cushions, lighting his campfire and cooking him a large, greasy fry-up. At his command, they obediently turned out their rucksacks and purged them of a quite astonishing amount of fresh fruit, swapping them for what the man described as "Army rations", but what looked to Paul like ordinary civilian candy bars.

_Fascinating_, he thought, _but where's the hero…?_

"Now," said the Army man, smiling. "Let's practice building some Army traps, shall we? Here's how you do it…" He began handing out coils of rope.

"But, Colonel Rotten," said one of the children tentatively, "isn't this going to be… dangerous?"

Colonel Rotten knelt down so he could look right into his face.

"Trust me, Gabriel," he said intensely. "You can _never, ever tell_ where the enemy will be. They could be hiding among us _right now…_watching us…spying on us…waiting to take over the town and _fill it with their own people_ and drive us out_…_" For a moment he glanced right up at the tree-house, and Paul had to fight his natural instinct to shrink back, knowing that nothing drew the human eye like sudden, nervous movement.

_This is James's man on the inside? What a freak…_

"So here we go! Everyone tie a knot like this…"

The children obediently tried to follow his instructions.

"And now…watch this…" he arranged the end of the rope delicately on the ground. "You add the bait…but you have to be really careful…not to…"

_Any minute now_, thought Paul,_ he's going to - ooh yeah, _there_ you go…_

Seemingly by accident, Colonel Rotten stepped backwards into the loop of rope. The rope pulled tight and he swung upside-down by one ankle, high in the air.

"Don't worry!" shouted Gabriel. "We'll get you down!" He began to fumble with the knot that held the rope secure around the base of the tree.

"_No_, leave it _alone_, you cretins- " It was too late. Two of Gabriel's friends grabbed desperately at his legs; all three of them were pulled up off the ground as a counter-balance to Colonel Rotten. Now four people dangled helplessly, on either side of the tree-branch.

Paul checked his battery.

The movement was so fast he nearly missed it. Someone vaulted over the wall and threw a series of handsprings across to where the children were clinging desperately to their end of the rope. It was a man, athletic and magnificently proportioned, dressed in a cobalt blue tracksuit and a tightly-fitting blue cap.

"Hang on, kids!" he shouted encouragingly. The children remaining on the ground swarmed around him in confidingly.

_This is the guy_, thought Paul in astonishment. _There really is…_

The man in blue looked up at the rope, then took a completely impossible leap straight upwards and grabbed onto the end of the rope where the children clung like monkeys. The rope slid downwards, and the children hopped gratefully off onto the ground. Paul watched in fascinated disbelief as the man in blue took the full weight of Colonel Rotten, holding the rope taut. _That's got to be - what? Fifteen stone of dead weight? And he's not even straining…and that jump, straight up into the air…James was right, this place is a potential gold-mine…_

He looked around, figuring out his next move.

_What you need, my friend, is a utility belt_, thought Paul.

He pulled steadily on the rope - _How can he have that light, athletic build and be so strong?_ Paul wondered. _Is he even human?_ - until he had enough slack to tie it back around the tree. Then he swung and somersaulted lightly up to the branch with the rope around it, effortlessly hauled Colonel Rotten up onto the branch beside him and unfastened the rope from around his ankle.

"Do you want me to help you climb down?" he asked, smiling.

"I'd rather fall to my death, thank you," said the Colonel with dignity. The man in blue rolled his eyes and vaulted down to the ground.

_What ought to happen next,_ thought Paul, in cameraman's ecstasy, _is that the branch ought to give way… shit, is someone up there listening to me?_

Colonel Rotten fell to the ground, losing his cap on the way, and the man in blue caught him expertly in his arms.

"_Robbie,_" he said, rolling his eyes.

"Uniforms not your thing?" asked Robbie sourly. Then, as Sportacus set him on his feet, he hissed in his ear, "Drop by the Mayor's office later. Your wife might need your help."

--

Sportacus could hear raised voices from across the square. Opening the door to the office, he saw Stephanie and James, standing on either side of the desk and screaming at each other. Two men were leaning against the wall, trying hard to disappear.

"I'd stay over here if I were you," said the man nearest to him gloomily, looked again, and tried to hide his enormous double-take. "Jesus Christ, it's _you_, you're the - "

"I'm Sportacus." He held out a friendly hand. The other man took it automatically.

"Mick Jones. Big Pig advertising. This is Paul. My God, that girl, she looks like this sweet bit of fluff, but she's _scary_ when she gets angry…oh shit, she's your wife, isn't she? No offence."

"Oh, absolutely none taken. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr Jones…"

"You go for it, pal. I think I'll just stay over here…"

"Don't you _dare_ try and push me around," James was saying threateningly. "I know more about how this town works after six months here than you know after _twelve god-damn years_, you silly girl - "

"And don't _you _dare try and change the subject! I _told _you, that Quarry Hill project is _not_ going ahead…"

"Who was it that told you about the video, anyway? If it was Rotten, I swear I'll string him up outside this office by his - "

"Robbie didn't say a word to me," said Stephanie scornfully. James looked at her in surprise. There was the ring of utter truth in her voice.

"So who the hell - " he began in mystification

"What does it matter?" In fact it had been David, who had come to her studio and, scarlet with embarrassment, passed on Robbie's cryptic message, word for word:_ Barbie, darling, a tip from your Wicked Uncle. Deputy Doohickey's making an adult movie of me and your husband._ "What matters is that I caught you."

James shrugged.

"So you caught me. So what?"

"So now you have to stop."

"Do I?"

Stephanie felt a chill go down her spine as she remembered her aunt's words. _What if he stops minding what you think?_

"I'm the owner."

"But how are you actually going to _stop_ me? I'm making a decision for the good of the town, and any court in the land will back me on that. How exactly are you going to fight me, hey? You got a lawyer? An army?"

"No, but she does have me," said Sportacus. James looked at him and turned pale for a moment.

"I might have known you'd show up to defend her," he said scornfully, recovering.

"Oh, Stephanie doesn't need me to fight her battles for her. But since I'm here…"

"It's nothing you need to get involved in, Sportacus. This is town business, not rescuing people."

Sportacus looked at Stephanie, his eyebrows raised questioningly. She shook her head just a little, and he smiled and stepped back. The unspoken communication between them, their perfect mutual understanding, made James's blood boil.

"This is happening," he said. "Quarry Hill is going ahead. And there's _nothing_ you can do about it." He held up a DVD triumphantly. "So you might as well get used to it and start planning how we're going to spend the profits, because - "

"Stephanie, _no_ - " said Sportacus, warningly.

Stephanie clenched her fist into a ball and, with a force that threw her half across the table, punched James square on the jaw. He keeled over backwards like a felled tree.

"Did I just _see_ that?" asked Mick wonderingly.

"_Damn_, I wish I'd had my camera switched on," said Paul, in agony.

Sportacus looked as Stephanie, speechless.

Stephanie stared at James in horror.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to his unconscious form. "I don't know what came over me, I didn't mean to - "

"You two don't have any kids, do you?" asked Mick, from his station by the wall. "Because, my God, remind me never to get on _their_ bad side…"

"I think we three should be out of here when he wakes up," said Sportacus, taking Mick and Paul firmly by their arms and propelling them to the door.

"You're not afraid of him, are you?" asked Mick incredulously.

Sportacus laughed out loud.

"Not at all. But - if that was you on the floor - would _you_ want three men standing around watching you when you woke up again? Just on the other side of the square there's a coffee shop, I suggest you wait for him there. Have a great day."

Back in the office, Stephanie was kneeling by James's prone form, stroking his forehead gently. Sportacus knelt beside her and she looked at him with her face filled with guilt.

"I can't believe I did that," she whispered. "That was just _awful_ of me, I'm so sorry - "

Stephanie…" he hesitated. "That was…"

"I know," she said. "Totally uncalled for and absolutely unforgivable."

He took her face between his hands and kissed her deeply, then put his mouth to her ear.

"That - was _-_ _magnificent_," he murmured to her, laughing a little, and left the office.

James came back to consciousness with a throbbing ache in his jaw and the awareness that he was lying somewhere warm and yielding. He found that his head was pillowed on Stephanie's lap and she was bathing his forehead with a damp towel.

"Lady, may I lie in your lap?" he murmured dazedly.

"Are you all right?" she asked him, shame-faced.

"Am I _all right_? You punched my lights out in my _own god-damn office_, and _now_ you're asking me if I'm all right?"

"I'm sorry. I know that was a terrible thing to do."

"Yeah, well, between you and your husband, I've been just about fucking destroyed this last week - what, he didn't tell you about that?" He laughed. "This doesn't make any sense at all. God damn it, woman, you won't have sex with me, you won't do business with me, your bloody husband despises me, and technically you even own the roof over my head. I try and go around you, and you take me on in a fist-fight and you _fucking win!_" He rose painfully to his feet.

"I should go," she said.

"Probably a good idea…but before you go…" He took her hand and shook it heartily. "You're unbelievable, Stephanie Milford. You've beaten me every single time I've taken you on. Got to be the most emasculating experience of my life. So why the hell am I so completely - " he stopped. "Never mind. No hard feelings, okay?"

She blushed to the roots of her hair, and left. He looked after her.

_So why the hell am I so completely in love with you?_ he thought.

--

Later that day, as the school bell rang, Molly found Sportacus on the basketball court.

"I won't be here for the game this afternoon," she told him breathlessly. "I have an - appointment - in Metropolis…"

He looked at her in astonishment and concern. Her eyes were burning and intense; she was staring at him with her whole soul in her eyes, pleading wordlessly.

"Are you all right?" he asked her, taking her hands between his.

"I'm afraid," she admitted with a sob.

"Of - " he hesitated, then asked her, very gently, "of the therapist? I can completely understand that, but maybe it might help?"

"Oh, _maybe_," she said, with a cynical smile; it bruised his heart to see such an adult expression on her young, vulnerable face. "But - "

"Molly!" Her father appeared at the side of the court. "We need to go _now_, hon."

_There's something wrong_, he thought to himself, _something terrible is going to happen_. There was no warning from his crystal, but the knowledge was bone-deep within him.

"I have to go," she said, looking at him beseechingly.

"I hope it goes well," he said, knowing he had missed something, wishing there was something more he could say.

He didn't want to let her go, but he had to. She held tightly to his hand for a second longer, then ran across the court to her father. Her father put his arm around her shoulders, and led her away.


	13. Chapter 13 My Father Was A Gambling Man

**Chapter Thirteen - My Father Was A Gamblin' Man**

_(The Rising Sun Casino, Las Vegas)  
_"Place your bets, please, ladies and gentlemen," said the croupier. "Place your bets…last chance to bet…no more bets now, please, no more bets…number eleven, black, odd."

Stingy stared at the growing stack of chips in front of him. The girl next to him laughed in amazement.

"You just can't lose, can you?" she asked, her ripe silicon breasts brushing against him.

He smiled at her, but his eyes were dark with despair.

"Apparently not," he said. "So, what shall we try next?"

--

_(Lazytown, seventeen days ago)  
_As usual, the whole gang - this time including Ziggy and Marie - met up for the Six Thousand ideas screen.

"Come on then, genius," said Stingy, smiling.

Stephanie looked at him in concern. He was pale and exhausted, with huge purple shadows under his eyes. He was thinner - the beautifully cut, crisp linen shirt Trixie had bought him for his birthday was loose on him - and he looked as if his world was falling apart.

"Okay," said Pixel, "I'm wearing the first one." He held his arms out. "What do you think?"

They all looked at him obediently, but couldn't see anything unusual. The gaming visor he liked to play with in idle moments was propped in his hair like sunglasses; his MP3 earphones dangled out of the top of his sweatshirt, which today read, "Underneath these clothes I'm naked"; his jeans and trainers were scuffed and worn.

"Can't you see it?" he asked them, disappointed. "I'll show you again." He turned away, and then back again.

They looked him up and down again. Gaming visor; MP3 earphones; sweatshirt reading "Momma says I'm too ugly for Facebook"; frayed jeans; scuffed trainers.

Emma pointed at his sweatshirt and laughed.

"How come the only one who gets it is the one who can't read?" asked Pixel plaintively. He picked Emma up and gave her a squeeze. "At least you're impressed. Ow, don't pull my hair, that _hurts_." When he put her down again, the sweatshirt read, "I saw Elvis in Wal-Mart".

"Hey," said Ziggy, interested enough to let go of Marie's hand for a minute. Stephanie was amused to see that, as soon as Ziggy wasn't watching, Marie wiped it surreptitiously on her jeans. "That's pretty cool. Is it pre-programmed? Can it say absolutely anything?"

Stephanie glanced at Stingy. He was looking in Pixel's direction, but it was clear that his thoughts were a million miles away. Trixie saw her looking, and Stephanie raised her eyebrows questioningly.

_Everything okay?_ she mouthed.

To her astonishment, Trixie, carefree, self-possessed Trixie, sighed and looked unhappily down at her hands.

_Oh, Lord, trouble in paradise,_ thought Stephanie.

"It's got a USB dock in the label," said Pixel, happily oblivious to the eddying cross-currents of communication. He turned the bottom hem up to show them. "You hook it up to your computer and programme up to fifty slogans, rotating on any schedule you want. Oh, yuck - Emma's put banana smoothie on me."

"Sorry," said Stephanie, offering a wet cloth.

"It's okay…oh." As he dabbed at the stain, an ominous purplish-black liquid oozed out from the surface of his t-shirt and began to fizz gently. "Oh…ow, actually that's kind of…ow…_ow…_Jesus, get it _off _- "

"Let me help," said Stephanie. Swiftly she lifted the sweatshirt off over Pixel's head, taking care not to let it drip onto her hands.

"You didn't get _any_ on me," said Pixel, amazed. "How did you do that?"

Stephanie smiled mysteriously.

"It's an ancient skill known only to mothers of children who have just been sick all down themselves."

"Oh, _God_, that's _horrible_! Does she really do that? Emma, you're _vile_. Don't laugh, it's not a compliment! I'm not marrying you until you stop, you understand?"

_And since when has _Pixel _made jokes about getting married?_ Stephanie thought. _Trixie said he'd been seeing someone…_

They all watched as the t-shirt gradually dissolved to nothingness on the table.

"So you can't get it wet," said Stingy gently at last, briefly roused out of whatever private hell he was staring into.

"I guess not," replied Pixel sadly.

"And now you're half-naked in a business meeting."

"Er - "

"Do you want to go home and get dressed, or - ?"

"No, I've got a spare," said Pixel resignedly, rummaging in his backpack and pulling out a t-shirt with the single, enigmatic word "Gopherous" .

"Does that one tell you what the stock market's doing in New York shortly before melting your skin?" asked Trixie, chuckling.

"Don't tease him," said Stingy mildly. "Come on, Pixel, what's next?"

--

_(The Rising Sun Casino, Las Vegas)_

"How about Blackjack?" she asked him, shaking back her mane of golden hair. "Then we can sit down. These heels are _killing_ me."

He laughed.

"I can't."

"It's really easy, honey, I'll explain - "

"No, I mean I _can't_. I played nothing but Blackjack for the first day or two I was here. I won so much they thought I was working the table - you know, as part of a team. So I switched to Roulette before they threw me out."

"How much did you win?"

He counted on his fingers.

"Fifty thousand the first session. Eighty-two the second. I can't remember what I won in the third, I decided to quit before the Duty manager asked me to leave. As soon as I switched to Roulette, they upgraded me to a complimentary suite. I guess they figure I'll have to start losing eventually." He shrugged. "After all, if you play for long enough, nobody beats the house, right?"

"You won_ a hundred and thirty-eight thousand dollars_ in just two sessions?" She laughed. "I bet Moe just about had a fit…are you sure you're not a team player?" She meant it as a joke, but he seemed to take it rather seriously. But then, he seemed to take everything rather seriously, this poor, lost boy with the tragic dark eyes and the seemingly endless winning streak.

"No," he said sadly. "Unfortunately, that's the very last thing that I am."

--

"Two winners, two reworks, two wipe-outs," said Trixie, smiling at Pixel, but the smile didn't reach her eyes. "Are you staying for coffee?"

"We've got a meeting," said Pixel. "Haven't we, Stingy?"

"So we have."

"So - don't we need to go?"

"Yes," said Stingy, visibly pulling himself together. "Trix, I'll see you later, okay?" He kissed her lightly. "And as for you, young lady…" he scooped Emma up and hugged her tightly for a second.

"Don't be sad," said Emma, unexpectedly.

"What?" he asked blankly.

"It's over now," said Emma, and smiled sweetly.

"That's _enough_, Emma," said Stephanie, taking Emma out of Stingy's arms. "Stingy…" She looked at him for a moment, longing to help; but it was too public a place, he was too private a person, and he might not want to talk anyway…

"He'll be gone soon," insisted Emma. "Mummy, _no_, want _Uncle Stingy - _"

"We'd better go," said Pixel. "Stingy, come _on_ - " Stingy, who was staring at Emma, followed Pixel out of the café.

Stephanie looked at Trixie over the top of Emma's head.

"What's happening, Trixie?"

Trixie closed her eyes tightly and bit her bottom lip very hard, trying not to cry.

"Hey," said Stephanie, awkwardly trying to put her arm around Trixie while still holding Emma. "What's wrong?"

"I can't tell you," said Trixie miserably.

"We're best friends. You can tell me _anything_."

"I can't…I promised I'd talk to Stingy first…"

"Promised who?" asked Stephanie, completely bewildered.

"Sportacus." Trixie looked at Stephanie. "He didn't tell you?"

"He never tells me about other people's problems," said Stephanie. "Not unless he thinks there's something - " She stopped suddenly.

"Yes?" said Trixie.

"Nothing."

"Unless he thinks there's something you can do to help?" Trixie asked bitterly.

"I didn't mean - "

Trixie sighed.

"He's given me all the help I'm entitled to already," she said, wiping her eyes resolutely. "It's all right, Pinkie. I'll sort this one out on my own, one way or another…" She kissed Emma, as cover for the tears that were spilling rebelliously down her cheeks. "I'll call you from Boston, all right?" Rummaging in her bag for a tissue, she left the café.

"What was that about?" Stephanie asked Emma. Emma smiled. "No, honey…you don't have to answer."

--

"So," said the girl, leaning against Stingy as he sat at the poker table and riffled through his hand, "you want to have some fun with me afterwards?"

"Aren't we having fun now?"

"You know what I mean," she said coaxingly. "This is _Vegas_, honey, the original Sin City. Anything goes. Trust me, for the tips you've given me you're more than entitled to a little - complimentary hospitality." She looked him up and down and smiled to herself, relishing his good looks, and most especially his youth. "In fact, it would be my absolute pleasure."

"You're very kind."

"And you're very uptight. Are girls not your thing? Because if you prefer life on the other side of the tracks, there's plenty of that going too; you just need to know where to look."

"No, it's not that," he said, laughing. "You're very beautiful, Alabama, I just - "

"Call me Allie, honey."

"You're a very beautiful girl, Allie, I'm just not in the mood."

"Are you _sure _you don't prefer boys? Just say the word, baby, I've got the numbers of all the prettiest guys in town. No-one ever has to know. I'll stay on your arm as cover for as long as you like."

He put his arm around her and kissed her gently on the cheek.

"It's just that I'm trying to forget the love of my life," he told her simply.

--

"So, you boys fancy some coffee?" asked James. "I'll send Ms Wescott out."

"She's not there," said Pixel.

"Really? Oh, right, it's her lunch break…sorry about that."

"I'll go," said Pixel instantly, standing up.

"No need," said James, smiling. _Knew he'd offer, if ever there was a boy born to be a doormat…_

"I don't mind going. What would you like?"

"Double espresso," said James.

"Stingy?"

"Oh - I don't know, latte I suppose…"

Pixel looked at him with concern, and James could see him hesitating about leaving at all, but eventually he shambled out, his hands in the pockets of his disgraceful jeans.

James looked at Stingy shrewdly. _Looks like hell_, he thought to himself. _Knew he'd realise. I wonder if she's told him who - no, she can't have, or he'd have a knife to my throat…_

"You okay, Shaun?" he asked.

"I'm fine," said Stingy, shuffling papers.

"You don't look it."

Stingy gave him a carefully blank stare. _No trespassers,_ said the look on his face, but James had made his fortune by riding roughshod over everyone in pursuit of his goals.

"It's that girl of yours, isn't it?" he said, getting straight to the point.

Stingy stared at him in shock.

"I _beg_ your pardon - "

"Oh, please," said James irritably. "Don't get all offended on me. We're both men, for God's sake. I've been your age, I've been in your shoes, I know how you're feeling."

"I seriously doubt that."

"Look, Shaun, what the hell do you expect? You must have known what you were taking on. She's twenty-one years old, she's gorgeous, she's used to being the college knock-out. Most of all, she's a woman. Women cheat; it's in their nature. They can't help themselves. Chalk it up to experience and move on."

"How did you know - "

"Oh, don't worry, it's not town gossip. Like I said, I've been your age and in your shoes, I know the signs." _A total lie. If I'm like either of you, I'm like Trixie. But no need for you to know that._ "Look, you're obviously pretty smitten. Go ahead and marry her if you want to. But stop expecting so _much _of her. Lighten up a bit. And while you're at it, why don't you have a little fun on your own account? She's hardly going to complain, is she? What's the point of being a Master of the Universe if you're not going to enjoy the spoils?"

Stingy looked at him speechlessly.

"And, while I've got you to myself," continued James, going for the knock-out blow now, "There's something else I wanted to ask you…have you thought any more about bringing Six Thousand Ideas in under Prickly Tree?"

Stingy shook his head firmly.

"Mr Thornton, Pixel and I made a promise, and it's not going to happen."

"You see?" said James, his voice deceptively gentle. "There you go again, expecting so _much_ of everyone, leaning so hard on a childhood vow. You made that promise when you were boys. Now you're successful businessmen. You've done unbelievably well to get this far, but you're under-capitalised, and - "

"Actually, Mr Thornton, our capitalisation is fine."

"That's because you're not thinking big enough. There's so much more you could do if you were part of Prickly Tree. I can get you access to resources like you wouldn't believe. Capital, talent, marketing expertise, partner organisations. And - Stingy - "

Through the tiredness and the pain in his heart, Stingy registered the change from _Shaun_, and pulled himself together.

"Molly's not interested in business," James continued softly. "Not so far, anyway. So I'm looking for a protégé. Someone needs to take over when I finally get bored. I'm not making you any sort of promises, we both know they'd be totally fucking worthless anyway… but, if it worked out well, if you're as bright as I think you are, if you're as much like me as I think you could be…someone has to be CEO after me. Could be you, if you want it bad enough."

Stingy stared at him.

_Are you right?_ he wondered._ And I just stuck on childhood dreams, believing your first love can last for ever, imagining a promise made when I was seventeen and stoned is binding for the rest of my life?_

The gang had always teased him about his relentless quest for success, and he had gone along with it, laughing at himself because it was easier than explaining. Since he was a boy, his ambition had been to build himself a fortress, a fortress consisting of money and possessions and power, where he could hide from the world, inviting in who he wanted while keeping everyone else out...and now here was an offer that came only to a handful of people on the planet, and came to them only once…

"Give it some thought," said James coaxingly. "You can have until tomorrow to answer, that's how much I believe in you. Come on, Stingy. You're way over-invested in your friends. Pixel's a techno-genius, but take him out of his comfort zone and he can barely find the front door of his own house. And Trixie - she's gorgeous, I admit, but so are plenty of girls. She's not worth breaking your heart over. Time to cut them loose and move out on your own. Come in with me and I'll give you the world."

"Sorry I took so long," said Pixel, pushing the door open awkwardly, his hands full of paper cups, a paper bag under his arm. "Stingy, here's your latte. Mr Thornton, double espresso. And I got some doughnuts as well. Sorry, Stingy, I forgot napkins."

"What? That doesn't matter, you fool, just sit down and - "

"You always complain when you get sugar on your suit," said Pixel without rancour. "I'll try and remember next time."

Stingy was deeply embarrassed to find his eyes filling with tears.

"Right," he said briskly. "FreeDive. I'm not convinced about the exclusivity period for the price you're offering…" He did the rest of the negotiation more or less on automatic pilot, aware that James was doing the same thing, as they stared at each other over the table and separately considered the offer James had made.

"All right," said James at last. "Final offer. Three years exclusivity for the Caribbean, hold off marketing it anywhere else for the first two, first refusal on LatAm and the Med at the same price."

"In case that Hilton Hotels deal you're working on comes off?" asked Stingy coolly.

"How did you find out about _that_?"

Pixel open his mouth to answer. Stingy kicked him very hard on the ankle.

"Make it inflation plus twenty per cent and you've got a deal."

James scowled, then nodded.

"_Jesus_ - okay, done."

They shook hands over the contract.

"Remember," said James softly, while Pixel was adding his signature as co-director. "Answer by tomorrow, okay?"

Stingy looked James up and down. _I really could be him in twenty years or so,_ he thought. _He's heavier, but he's a boxer and he's older. Apart from that, we look kind of alike. Dark hair…dark eyes…even our hands are about the same size…even…our - hands…oh, no, it can't be…yes, yes it could…_

He felt sick with the knowledge that had suddenly come to him.

"You can have your answer now," he said, feeling as if he was looking down at himself from a great distance. "No."

James turned white with anger.

"You bloody idiot. You're throwing away the chance of a lifetime."

"Maybe," said Stingy, shrugging. "Maybe tomorrow morning I'll wake up and regret it. I'll have to wait and see. But - the fact is, Mr Thornton - I'd rather be _dead_ than like you." He turned on his heel and walked out.

"Sorry," said Pixel over his shoulder. "He's not been himself these last few weeks - " he ran after Stingy. "Stingy, slow _down_. What the hell's the matter with you? Are you losing your mind?"

Stingy laughed hysterically.

"_All this I will give you_," he murmured, "_if you will only bow down and worship me…_Remind me to bring the long spoons next time…"

"I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," said Pixel crossly.

--

"Sit there and drink that," ordered Alabama, handing him a large scotch. "Don't argue. I've had plenty of men cry on my shoulder. You all need a drink to open the floodgates. Why don't you tell me about her?"

"We grew up together," he murmured. "I've been in love with her since we were sixteen, but we only got together properly last year."

"Properly?" asked Alabama, raising an eyebrow.

He laughed a little.

"Oh, there was plenty of - _improper_ get-togethers - before we made it official. Weddings and bar mitzvahs and…"

"You know there's a word for that, right?"

"Yes, I know," said Stingy wearily, and took a mouthful of scotch. "It wasn't my choice - she never wanted anything serious. So I just had to wait until she was ready…maybe I mis-timed it…"

--

Back in her room in Boston, Trixie stood naked in front of the mirror, inspecting the ugly scratches and bruises that James had left on her body that last time they were together. They were finally fading, thank God; and, just as Sportacus had promised, James had left her absolutely in peace…there was just one more thing left to do…_got to keep my promise, he kept his…_

"Did _he_ do that to you?" Stingy asked, and she jumped out of her skin.

"How did you get in?"

"You didn't shut the door properly. So tell me, Trix…did he do - all of this - to you?" She hesitated for a second. "Don't try and bluff. We both know what I'm talking about."

"Yes," she said at last, sighing.

He came and stood behind her and turned her slowly around so he could see the damage.

"_That's_ what you've been hiding away all this time?" he asked. "My God, what did he _do_…?" he swallowed. "Is - this - why you wanted him? Is this what you've secretly needed, all this time? Someone who'll - be rough with you? Someone who'll push you around and hurt you?"

He felt her shudder.

"_No_," she said violently. "Absolutely not. No, never…"

"Then why did you let him do it?"

"I didn't exactly get much - " she stopped herself. _No, I'm not going to let him be sorry for me._

"You mean he _forced _you?" he asked, horrified.

"No," she said, then hesitated. "No, not really…"

"Not _really_? Isn't it pretty much black and white? Did you choose to be with him or didn't you?"

"Oh, God," she said despairingly. "Okay…he asked me, and I gave in. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I can't ever explain how sorry I am. I - this isn't your fault, it's _totally_ mine, but I just felt kind - of - trapped…oh, what does it matter? Whatever reason I give you, there's still no excuses. Anyway. He was - rough - right from the start… and he got worse each time…then, when I tried to stop seeing him - " she had fiercely promised herself that she wouldn't cry, but she could hear the wobble in her voice.

"Tell me," said Stingy, without expression.

"He said that - if I didn't meet him - " she stopped again. "No, it doesn't matter, it's no more than I deserved. If I hadn't been with him then he wouldn't have been in a position to - "

"He's _blackmailing _you?" She shivered at the expression on his face. "I swear, I'll take his heart out for this - "

"_No_!" she screamed, frightened. "No, you don't need to - it's over - Sportacus fixed it - "

"_What_?" He stared at her. "You told _him_? You went to him and not to me?"

"It wasn't like that, he just _knew_ - you know how it works - "

"How could you, Trixie?" His face was white. "How could you not trust _me_ when you needed someone to look after you? Someone treated you like - like _this _- " he gestured in disgust at the tracery of fading bruises winding over her body - "and I wasn't the one you wanted to help you out? God, don't I mean _anything _to you at all?"

She looked at him in bafflement.

"It's because you mean so much to me that - oh, look, how can _that _be the thing that upsets you? I don't understand - "

"Don't you _dare _try and tell me how I should feel," he said raggedly, and she winced at the raw pain in his voice. "Don't you _dare_. You have absolutely no idea - you never _will _have any idea - oh, God, how _could _you, how could you not come to _me_ - " his voice broke and he turned and walked to the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked him, trying not to let her voice tremble.

"It doesn't matter," he said bleakly. "Nothing matters any more. And just so you know, Trix - you going to Sportacus to help get you out of that _monster's _clutches - that's not the part that upsets me the most. It's just the only part I can bear to think about. Believe me, every little bit of this breaks my heart."

"I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"So am I," he said, and left, closing the door carefully behind him. In all the fights they had had, he had never walked away from her before.

Trixie put the chain on her door, crawled under her duvet and sobbed.

At the airport, he stood for a long time in the check-in hall, wondering where to go, what to do. He had all the money he needed; he had his passport in his briefcase; he could go anywhere at all, but none of it seemed to matter or mean very much. He longed to turn around and go back to Trixie and make it up with her, to kiss away her tears and tell her that it didn't matter, he loved her anyway, he always had, he always would…but he knew that he couldn't; he couldn't live his life like this. If he went back to her and forgave her for all the sleepless nights and the heartbreak and the endless wondering, what would she do the next time things were difficult…?

After a while, he realised he was in front of a bookshop, staring at the cover of a paperback book called _How To Beat The House_. _What a load of rubbish,_ he thought wearily, _nobody beats the house, nobody…eventually, you always lose…_

"Well, why not?" he said out loud.

--

"What does she look like?" asked Allie.

"She's beautiful," said Stingy sadly. "Five foot two at the most, really small and dainty, big dark eyes, all this amazing black hair…"

"No wonder you don't fancy me," she laughed. "She sounds like my exact opposite. But, honey…" she took his hand and laid it gently against the curve of her perfectly rounded golden breast. "This is the playground of the world. Anything goes here, anything at all. I'll make you forget her, it's what I'm best at…why come to Vegas if you're not going to enjoy it?"

He sighed, and moved his hand, stroking her hair so she didn't feel rejected. _You're way too nice to survive here_, she thought in amusement, _worrying about hurting the feelings of a Vegas showgirl…_

"I came to lose a lot of money," he said.

She laughed.

"The first man ever who's walked in with his eyes wide open. Why would you want to do that?"

"I had money put aside for a few things. Our wedding, a fantastic honeymoon, a house wherever she wanted to live, some to buy her a really spectacular piece of jewellery if we ever had a family." He laughed. "I plan way too much. No wonder she ended up cheating on me - "

"Is that what happened?" she asked sympathetically.

"Yes, and she picked such a _bastard_ - you just can't imagine - " he shivered. "Anyway. I was in the airport and I saw this book about how to win at gambling, and it made me smile because no-one ever, ever beats Vegas. So I thought I'd come here and blow the entire contents of my stupid daydream bank-account at the tables. I told myself I wasn't going home until I'd lost the lot. Then we'd be starting fair, Trixie and I, no expectations, no pressure, and maybe, just maybe…Except - " he laughed. "Except I can't seem to lose. I've been here nearly three weeks and I keep winning and winning and _winning_, every single time. And now I've got this complimentary suite and the House keeps paying for dinner and giving me free tickets and now I've even got you for company…I don't think I'm _ever _going home at this rate. God only knows what sort of a mess Six Thousand Ideas is in by now…"

"Cool name," said Allie, admiring.

"My best friend picked it. He's the genius, really. I'm just the money-man."

She put her hands on his face and kissed him on the mouth; a nice, warming, comforting kiss, somewhere between sisterly and sexual. Then she took him by the hand and led him to a small door behind the bar.

"Where are we going?" he asked her.

"The high-rollers room. Invitation only; minimum bet a hundred thousand dollars. If you can't lose your shirt in there, honey, it just ain't meant to be, and you'll have to go home disgustingly rich, and force her to marry you after all." She laughed at the expression on his face. "What? I'm a Vegas girl, darling, we see signs and portents everywhere we look. Come on."

She led him into a small room, windowless like all the casino rooms, to help the gamblers lose track of time and place. The shift manager looked up as they came in, and gave Allie a questioning look. Stingy looked around and realised why; almost all the men were over fifty, and the few who weren't might has well have had _Asian rich kid _tattooed across their foreheads.

"It's okay," said Allie, and the shift manager nodded.

"Welcome," he said. "What's your game tonight, sir?"

--

At the front desk of the casino hotel, the check-in clerk frowned. The booking system had locked him out: he was unable to access any of the information he needed. The painfully thin forty-something film star tapped her manicured nails on the desk as he struggled to find her room reservation.

"I do apologise," he said. "I'm just having some trouble here - oh, _what_?"

Suddenly the screen had come to life and data was scrolling frantically downwards. It seemed to be a list of every guest currently registered at the hotel. _Hey,_ he thought, _I didn't even know you could do that…_the cursor ran down, down, down, then stopped, scrolled back up again and came to rest on the name _Shaun Hughes_. As he watched in bafflement, a window opened and a message flashed up:

SORRY IM IN A HURRY ILL FIX IT LATER SORRY AGAIN PIXEL WRIGHT  
PS YOUR FIREWALL NEEDS UPGRADING AND SOMEONE HAS RIGGED THE MACHINES IN THE LOBBY

--

"Roulette," said Stingy.

"Right this way, sir."

"What's the maximum bet?"

"This is the high rollers room, sir…there is no maximum bet."

"Really? Then in that case, I'll put…" he turned out his pockets and laid down seventeen plain black chips in front of him. "I'll have all of this on number nine, please."

There was the briefest of pauses, then the croupier took the stack of chips and placed it onto the square. "Okay, so that's…one point seven million dollars on number nine. Place your bets, please, gentlemen, place your bets…"

"You're nuts," whispered Allie.

"If I can't lose it in here, right?" he whispered back. "Yes, what?" The bartender was tugging apologetically at his sleeve.

"I'm so sorry, sir…are you Mr Hughes? There's a phone call for you."

"What? There can't be. No-one knows where I am."

"It's someone called Pixel Wright, sir. He said I had to tell you it's the most important phone call of your life."

"Oh, okay - " Stingy put his arm around Allie for a moment. "Would you mind watching my chips for me?"

"You just bet nearly _two million dollars_ and you're not even going to stay and watch?" She shrugged. "Your funeral, honey."

The bartender led him out to the phone in the office behind the bar.

"Hello?…Pixel! How the hell did you find me?"

"Trixie said…try Vegas," shouted Pixel. The line was crackly and faint and kept breaking up. "She said…the place you'd hate most on earth…you all right?"

"I'm fine! Now tell me what the matter is…" the bartender watched out of the corner of his eye.

"He's _what_? My God, are you _sure_? Jesus…" he listened for a minute. "But, Pixel - that's a hell of a piece of news, but why is it so - " the bartender watched as the blood drained from his face and he clutched at the edge of the desk. "Tell me that again - "

"….said she's in _pieces_," shouted Pixel down the terrible line, "…made her come and stay with me, I thought she…on her own - but I think you need to…"

"Did she ask you to find me?" asked Stingy, closing his eyes.

"_Yes_, you fool! She begged me….said she needed to ask you…"

"I can't hear you! _God_, this line…"

"Sorry…the security," said Pixel faintly. "They think I'm…from inside the hotel, I had to…their internal…"

"I'm coming home," said Stingy instantly. "Tell her I'll be there tonight, okay?"

"…already nine o'clock."

"Really? God, you really do lose track here. Okay, then as soon as I can, all right?" He handed the phone back to the barman, rummaged in his pocket and found one more black chip. "Thanks." The barman looked at him blankly. "Seriously. It _was_ that important."

Allie met him at the door of the high roller's room. Her face was white.

"What? Did I finally lose?" he asked her, smiling.

"No," she said. "You…you won…" She passed him a stack of violet chips with trembling hands.

"Wow…my cue to go home filthy rich and make her marry me after all…" He took ten chips off the top of the pile and folded them into her hands. "Thank you."

"This is _ten million_ - "

"Shhh." He kissed her on the lips.

--

He parked the car at forty-five degrees to the kerb and ran up the stairs to their apartment.

"Hi," he said to Pixel as he passed him, "Thanks, by the way," and disappeared into his room.

Trixie was sitting on the floor, shivering and wrapped in his duvet. Her dark eyes were huge in her deathly-white face.

"Trixie," he said tenderly, putting his arms around her.

"I know you probably don't want to see me," she whispered, "but I have to know. Where have you been?"

"Las Vegas."

"The whole time since you left?"

"Yes…why? Oh, Trix, you didn't think _I_ had anything to do with - "

"I'm sorry. I should have known really. I know you'll never feel that way about me again…"

He swallowed.

"Trixie, I have thought about nothing and no-one else since the day I walked out. I've spent four days fighting off this gorgeous blonde who was convinced she was going to make me forget you. But she wasn't you, and I don't want anyone else…I told you, there's _nothing_ you can do that will stop me loving you…" he unwrapped the duvet so he could get closer to her. "But please, Trix, no more, okay? Not ever again. I don't think I could stand being hurt like that more than once…"

"_Never_," she whispered fiercely. "Never again, Stingy, I swear, I couldn't stand to do it either…I am _so, so sorry_…"

"Pixel said you needed looking after," he said, stroking her hair. She felt frail and light in his arms, and he realised that she, like he, must have been sleepless and unable to eat. He turned her face towards him so he could watch her expression. "Did he matter so much to you? Does it really hurt you this much that - "

"Oh, my God, you don't think I'm upset about _him_, do you?" she asked, her eyes wide with horror. "It's not that at _all_. I'm - oh, God, I'm so _relieved _that he's dead…"


	14. Chapter 14 Bad Moon Rising

**Chapter Fourteen - Bad Moon Rising**

_A/N: Okay, I hardly ever do the A/N thing, but this time I think it's really important to give you a heads-up. This is a reminder. This story - and especially this chapter and those following - is rated M for a reason. It contains VERY dark themes which are absolutely not intended for a young audience, and deals explicitly and in some detail with subjects that are…well…a very long way from entertaining. I'm serious, people._

--

_(Four hours before the death)  
_Molly leaned against the railings around the quarry-hole and gazed dreamily out at the afternoon sky. She noticed that there was now a gap in the rails at the far side to allow the trucks bringing the building rubble to fill in the hole, but it was now past five in the afternoon; no more trucks would come until tomorrow. She had the place to herself…

She pulled her red hoodie closer around her and shivered in the late autumn sunshine, wondering why the warmth did not seem to penetrate to her bones. She was cold, cold all the way through, with a chill that nothing and no-one would warm, and she wanted to die.

_Right now, this afternoon, this is finally the time, _she thought, _unless…I wonder how quick he is? How good he is? If he'd be able to…?_

She climbed slowly over the railing, then sat down on the other side and watched the sun gradually sinking in the sky.

_Is this really the last time I'll see the sun going down? I don't remember ever actually watching a sunset before. Always been so busy with other stuff. I'm only fifteen; is this really all there's ever going to be for me? Is this…? Am I really going to…? Yes, yes I am…this is it…I just can't stand any more…not now that it's happened again..._She felt the burning ache deep inside her and moaned a little; she had forgotten how much it hurt, how you felt sick all the way to your stomach with it, how you wanted to die afterwards…

Slowly, gathering her will, she took a step forward towards the edge.

She heard the whir of the airship's engines above her and looked up to see the rope-ladder tumbling down from above, between her and the edge.

_Are you going to save me, Sportacus? Are you going to bring me back to life and warmth again? Or are you still going to see me the way you want me to be, the sweet, sexless, innocent little girl, and not realise what's right in front of your eyes?_

"Molly! Come away from the edge right now, it's dangerous!" he shouted as he climbed down the ladder.

Defiantly, she took another two steps forward.

"Molly! Can you hear me! Molly, that edge is going to crumble if you walk on it, please come away _now_!"

"I'll make a deal with you," she said calmly. "If you stay where you are, I'll stay where I am."

She saw him turn pale, but his voice remained steady.

"Molly, what are you doing?" He slid down another rung of the ladder and she took another step forward.

"If it's dangerous for me, it's even more dangerous for you," she pointed out. "You'll be closer, and you're heavier."

She might as well not have spoken.

"Molly, please, this is a very dangerous place. Didn't your father tell you what happened to him? He was lucky not to be killed."

"No," she contradicted him, "he was lucky to have done something so stupid in Lazytown. You rescued him, didn't you? But I wonder…are you going to be quick enough to rescue me?"

"Molly, please don't do this. Talk to me. Tell me what the problem is."

"You sound just like my therapist."

He looked up into the ship. "Rope!" he called out, and hastily seized the coil that tumbled down into his hand. "Tell me about the therapist. Molly, please, keep talking, and keep still. Tell me how it's going."

"Don't you dare move any closer."

"I won't, I promise. Now talk to me. What is the therapist like? Yesterday was the third session, is that right?"

"He's…he sees a lot…"

_(Lying on the couch in that dimly-lit room, not wanting to look at him. His voice was gentle and soft, in contrast to the apocalyptic nature of his questions, and the seismic tremors they set off in her head. "Tell me about you and food, Molly. Why are you starving yourself like this? Do you feel you deserve to be punished? Who are you angry with? Do you resent the changes your body is going through? Are you trying to turn the clock back? Do you want to stay a little girl?" He saw a lot; he was quick and scarily perceptive; he seemed to know things about her that she no idea how he could possibly know; but he still hadn't guessed. Or if he had, he hadn't been able to stop it…)_

"And is it helping?"

She laughed bitterly.

"Do you think I'd be standing here if it was helping?" She took another step forward. Now she was only a couple of feet away from the edge. She saw his eyes widen.

"Molly, you're standing on about ten inches of soil hanging out over a sheer drop."

"Do you think I don't know that?" She heard the faint rattle of soil crumbling beneath her. He was busy with the rope now, frantically knotting it tight, first around the pole of the platform, then around his ankles.

"Don't you try and stop me," she warned. She spread her arms wide and moved a little closer to the edge.

"You told me you'd stay where you are if I stayed where I am," he reminded her, testing the strength of the knot.

"I'm human…I'm allowed to lie." She smiled dreamily. "It's a pity…I'd have liked to find out where you're really from…is it true you're not human?"

"I - well, no, not exactly. Molly, if you'll step away from that edge right now I'll tell you all about it." She saw him stand up straight on the ladder, balancing gracefully as it blew in the breeze.

"Are you going to catch me?" she asked him.

"If I have to."

"You might not be quick enough."

"Maybe not. So please, Molly, please step back just a little bit…"

"Aren't you going to tell me I have so much to live for?" she asked him maliciously, and took one more step, knowing it would be her last.

The earth gave way beneath her with frightening suddenness, and even though this was what she had planned, she still felt a moment of paralysing panic…_oh, mum, _she thought to herself as she plunged downwards, _will I see you when I get there? Will you keep me safe at last…?_

As she fell, the picture that floated through her mind was the view out of the window of the Physics lab back at St Cecilia's in New York State. _The distance travelled by a falling body is directly proportional to the square of the time it takes to fall_. She could hear Sister Immaculata's voice, the rich, warm accent of the Caribbean, reciting Galileo's law as the girls drowsed in the sunshine. _Which means, girls, that it would be impossible to catch a falling object by jumping after it._ She could hear the exact and beautiful inflection of her voice as she spoke the critical word: _im-possi-bull_. She didn't see him dive with her, but she knew that he must have jumped at exactly the same time that she fell, because his arms closed desperately around her and she was held firm and close against him.

She kicked and screamed and scratched, not sure if she was fighting to get free, or simply driven by the adrenaline rush. She bit him very hard on the arm and felt him flinch with pain, but his grip never wavered. He turned her in his arms so that she was lying with her back against his chest, and fastened something tightly around her waist, pressing her close and tight against him. Then she felt the blood rushing through her ears as he began to pull them both back up the bungee rope towards the airship. She briefly caught sight of the drop below them, and closed her eyes…

"Molly," he said softly to her, and she felt the firm grip around her waist loosen. "Molly, it's all right. You can let go now. We're on the airship. You're safe." She opened her eyes, and realised she was clutching onto his hands so tightly that her knuckles were white. When she released him, she could see the marks where her fingers had pressed into his skin…she felt her knees buckle beneath her, and he caught her under her arms.

"It's all right," he said reassuringly. "I've got you. There's no need to be afraid any more. Chair!"

"What?" she whispered blankly.

"I was talking to the ship…it works on voice-commands. Let me help you…" he half-carried her over to the chair that had folded silently up from the floor. She was shaking so violently that she could hardly move without his help. Without hesitation he put his arms around her and held her gently, stroking her back. She felt every touch of his hands sweep through her body like fire, bringing warmth to the centre of her where she had thought she would never be warm again, bringing her back to life, thrilling her…_maybe he _can_ save me, maybe he really can make it all right again…_

She took a deep breath. Before she could lose her nerve, she put her face up to his and kissed him, full on the mouth, winding her arms around his neck, sliding forwards off the chair so that she could press her body against his.

--

He saw her as soon as he brought the airship in over the quarry-hole, but it wasn't until he was halfway down the ladder that he realised what her intentions were. _Molly_, he thought desperately to himself, _please don't move, don't jump, don't do anything for just one more minute, just until I can get this rope fastened…_he was barely aware of what he was saying to her, focused completely on two things only; watching the steady, relentless trickle of soil and pebbles from the earth beneath Molly's feet; and the knots in the rope, which would have to take all of his weight, plus all of Molly's, plus the acceleration of their fall…

He saw the trickle of soil become a rush, and dived gracefully into space, straight into Molly's path as she fell. He caught her around the waist and held her tightly against him, barely registering the agonising jolt as the elastic recoil of the rope took the strain of their combined weight. As he had known she would, she fought and struggled, biting and scratching like an angry cat. He held her still until the first shock passed, then turned her around in his arms and fastened her securely against him. She lay passive and quiet against his chest and thighs as he pulled them slowly back up the length of the rope to the safety of the ship.

He murmured reassuringly to her as she shivered with shock and spent adrenaline, and carried her to a chair. _She's so young_, he thought to himself, _still just a child…what can possibly have driven her to…?_ There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that she had meant to die; that if he had not been there she would have stepped off that ledge into empty space and allowed herself to fall to her death on the rubble and rocks below.

As he held her steady and safe, comforting her, he could feel her gathering her strength for something. Then, to his total shock, she slid forward off the chair and was in his arms, pressing herself against him, pulling him down towards her, kissing him deeply.

--

She could feel almost straight away that it wasn't any good; there was nothing coming back from him at all. He didn't push her away immediately, but that was simply because he hadn't been expecting it. His hands reached up and took hold of hers, he removed them from around his neck, and then he sat her gently back on the chair and moved away. In his eyes was the tactfully oblivious look she had seen so many times before.

"Don't you dare try and pretend that didn't just happen," she whispered, utterly humiliated. "We have to talk about this - "

"I think there are far more important things for us to talk about," he said calmly. "Tell me what's happening to you, Molly. Tell me why you were out there by that quarry-hole."

"Tell me why you don't want me," she challenged back. "Tell me why the only man I want doesn't look at me the way every other man does…"

"I don't think that's going to help."

"What the _fucking hell_ would you know about what would help?"

"Clearly, not nearly enough. So, please, Molly, talk to me."

"Not if _you_ won't talk to _me_. I mean it. You want to know? That's the price. That's what my dad taught me. You never give anything away unless you're getting something in return."

She saw the sigh travel right through him.

"All right, Molly, if you insist…what is it that you want to know?"

"Why won't you kiss me back?"

"Because - "

How could he explain it, tactfully but truthfully? _Because just the thought of touching you in that way, a girl of fifteen, fills me with cold horror? Because I know, as much as I know anything, that you don't really want this to happen, that it's something totally different from desire that's driving you on? Because I love my wife?_

"Because," he said at last, "because however you see yourself, Molly, to me you're just a little girl. Now tell me why you were out there."

"Because I wanted to die."

They stared at each other in the warm white light of the airship.

"I know that. I could see it in your eyes. Tell me why. _Please._"

"How old was Stephanie when you noticed _her_?"

"She - _what_? What on earth does Stephanie have to do with anything?"

"Tell me."

_(The gradually dawning knowledge, bone-deep and almost painful, that she was the love of his life. The fierce vow he made, renewed daily and sometimes hourly, that he would never, never let her see it, unless he had some sign that she might feel the same. He would not allow her to be caught by the relentless natural laws of his people; he would not let her tie herself to him forever unless, by some miracle, she looked him straight in the eyes and told him that it was what she wanted. The endless, relentless discipline that he forced on himself, to continue to see her, to spend time with her, even to dance with her and hold her and touch her, without allowing himself to think of her as his lover. The sweet and unbelievable shock of the magical time when they finally found each other…)_

"I don't remember exactly when," he said truthfully. "It didn't matter anyway, it was _never_ about what I wanted; it couldn't be. What mattered was how she felt about me. I didn't want her to feel she owed me anything just because I was in love with her…"

"Oh, you're just a regular hero, aren't you," said Molly, with venom.

"Just right now, no, not much of one at all. Not unless I can help you. Tell me what I can do, what it was that sent you to that place. Please, Molly."

"So…if how _she _felt was so goddamn important…why doesn't it matter to you how _I_ feel about you?"

"Molly - " he turned away to hide his embarrassment. He had spent upwards of ten years successfully avoiding this conversation, and now, of all people, this lost little girl in desperate trouble had finally forced his hand. "Whatever it is that you think you feel for me - I promise you - it's not about _me_ at all. What you - what you admire…it's just the uniform, the airship, the - well, the job I do for the town - "

"And the muscles and the good looks and the beautiful smile."

He threw up his hands in despair.

"Oh, all right then, if you are going to make me say it, then _yes_, I suppose all of that too - but that's not love, Molly, that's just - "

"Hero-worship?" She stood up and tried to take his hand. "Who said sex had anything to do with love?"

"And _that_ is certainly not a conversation we're going to have right now. Molly, I can _see _what is happening to you. I can see that you're not eating properly, I've seen those scars you try so hard to hide. Now if you don't want to talk to me, then _of course_ I understand that, but I will _not_ watch you tear yourself apart like this. Where can I take you? If you can't tell me, then who? Do you want to be with your father?"

She shook her head violently and he saw her shudder.

"Not your father? I - Molly, I know he is not a perfect man, but he loves you…can he really not help you?"

"I could lie, you know," she said suddenly, tears pouring down her face. "I could tell everyone that you dragged me up here and forced me…and they'd believe me, too…"

It sounded like a threat, but her eyes were huge and pleading.

"So," she continued, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "you might as well try it out with me, to be honest, because…I don't _care_ about all that love nonsense, not any more. I _know _you're not in love with _me_, for God's sake. Why would you be? I'm just - I'm not even - but I thought - I still wanted - " her voice broke. "I wanted, just for once, to be with someone who's caring and beautiful and considerate and _gentle_ and - someone I'd chosen for myself - just _once_, just to prove it doesn't always have to be ugly and horrible and - "

_She's not threatening me at all,_ he thought, as with a dawning sense of horror he finally began to see the truth. _She's trying, in the best way she can manage, to tell me...now I have to be careful...and gentle...and somehow find a way to help her say it..._

He took her hands gently between his.

"Molly," he said softly. "Please listen to me…you're absolutely right, you could do exactly that, you could tell them that I lured you up here and took advantage of you. And yes, they would probably believe you and not me. And they would send me away, or more likely lock me away somewhere here, in your world, and that would be the end of my life. But that doesn't matter. What matters…the _only_ thing that matters...is that there is a reason they would believe you, isn't there?" She looked at him then, a quick, frightened look, and he knew he was right. "Tell me who, Molly. Please, just tell me who and, I swear to you, I will make sure he _never_ touches you again."

"What will you do to him?"

_Kill him, I think, _he thought to himself grimly.

"You don't need to worry about that," he said out loud. "Let me take responsibility."

"He made me promise never to tell - he said he was sorry, he'd try to do better - and if I loved him I'd never tell - "

"Whoever he was, he had no right to ask you to make that promise. Time to let it go, now, Molly. Be brave now for just one moment and tell me his name, and I give you my word that I will do _everything_ else that needs doing."

She looked at him beseechingly.

"Can't you guess? Don't you know?"

And the terrible thing was that he did know, he had always known; some part of him had recognised it almost the second he had laid eyes on him. That moment, months ago now, when they had shaken hands for the first time in Mayor Meanswell's office, he had looked at him and he had seen it. Their eyes had met, and the word that had crossed his mind, for that fleeting instant before he dismissed it, was, _MONSTER…_

_All these months I knew there was something wrong, all this time it was there in front of my eyes, and yet somehow, I didn't realise…how could I not see it? How could I leave her in danger like that?_

"It's your father, isn't it?" he whispered, and her face crumpled and she flung herself into his arms and howled.

"Don't hurt him, please don't hurt him! He's my dad, he's all I've got, he couldn't help it, he didn't mean it…please, _please_, just - keep him away from me, don't let him do it to me again…"

And then he held Molly in his arms while she cried and cried and cried, clutching painfully at him, telling him about it in broken, disconnected fragments that turned him sick and cold. And as she sobbed and choked until she was painfully, helplessly sick on herself and on his lap and on the floor of the airship, and he peeled the soaked and filthy hoodie off her too-thin body and saw the dark bruises on her arms where someone - _her own father _- had held her brutally still and helpless while he raped her, the thought came to him again; _truly, I think I am going to have to kill him for this._

--

As the wife of the town hero, Stephanie had long ago grown used to Sportacus bringing home the waifs and strays of the town from time to time - for a hot bath, for a nap, for a bandage, occasionally for a firm but gentle talking-to. Nevertheless, something in her husband's face as he carried Molly, profoundly asleep in his arms, towards the house, sent a shiver down her spine.

"What happened to her?" she asked as he carried her into the house.

"Her father happened to her," he said grimly. He took Molly upstairs and laid her gently on their bed. Without waking, she turned over onto her side and curled herself into a ball, pressing the side of her thumb against her mouth in a gesture that reminded them both almost painfully of Emma. Then he went into the bathroom and began going through drawers and cabinets, tossing bottles of painkillers, Emma's baby paracetamol and a pack of razors into a basket. She saw what he was doing and her eyes widened.

"Where did you find her?"

He went to the kitchen and began sorting methodically through the drawers, removing anything with sharp edges. "We're going to have to keep these in the airship for a while, I'm sorry…I found her by the quarry-hole."

"That doesn't matter, you know that. She wasn't - she wasn't going to jump, was she?"

"She _did_ jump…or, at least, she walked off the edge…I caught her."

"But - _why_? I knew she wasn't happy, but, - oh my God, she's still just a little girl - "

He looked at her despairingly, wishing with all his heart that he didn't have to burden her with the terrible heartbreak of the story Molly had told him.

--

When he had finished, he lay full-length on the sofa with his head in Stephanie's lap. She stroked his hair and face gently.

"So what are we going to do?" she asked him at last.

"Sweetheart, before I can answer that, I need to understand something first. If we go to the police…if we tell them what he did to her…what will they do? What will happen? To Molly, I mean?"

She thought for a minute.

"Well…first they'll have to examine her, I think. To make sure it's true, and to see if they can find any evidence to use if it goes to a trial…"

_Bright lights and sharp instruments. Officers standing by while a woman with a soft, resigned face and gentle hands examines and explores. "Just a minute now, honey, be brave for me just a minute longer. I know that's uncomfortable, but you're doing really good…" Stretching her open with a speculum and scraping with an unforgiving spatula at the delicate hidden tissues, already brutally bruised and torn, probing and invading where already so much damage has been done, looking for evidence. After that, the more subtle invasion of the camera, the flash going off again and again as the wounds are photographed and catalogued. "Turn over, please, hon, I need to get a shot of those bruises…good girl…now back this way again, please, so I can see those scratches…okay, that's fantastic…you're doing really well…" A desperate perversion of the modelling dream of so many pretty young girls. "Okay, honey, you can get down of the bed and go and take a shower now. Remember, you're safe here, there are officers just outside the door…" _

"…after that, I suppose it'll depend on whether he admits it or not."

_That man, that self-made and utterly ruthless man, who thought he could conquer his demons, who thought no-one would ever know: what are the chances that he will admit to the terrible damage he's done? That man who moved to Lazytown because he must have realised, in the end, that he couldn't stop himself. So he found me…to do for Molly what he couldn't do himself - to keep her safe from her own father. He moved here, to my town, so that his daughter would be under my protection; and then, if he was tempted to touch her again, I would be there to stop him…but I failed her. Because, when the monster that he hides inside of him became too strong, _he took her out of the town, _so that I wouldn't see or know what he was doing…_

_Did he plan it? Did he intend, when he booked that room in the Metro Grand Hotel - one room only, for a girl of fifteen and her father - to rape his daughter that night when she came home from the therapist? Or did he believe that he was strong enough to resist?_

_No, he'll never admit it to the police, I am sure…maybe not even to himself…_

"And if he won't admit it?" he asked her as she caressed his forehead tenderly.

"Then - well, I guess it will have to go to trial…"

_The two of them, that poor, damaged girl and her monster of a father, facing each other in the courtroom._ All are equal under the law_. That's how they told me it works, and maybe they really believe that it can be that way, these people I live among. But how can they ever be equal, a lost little child and her powerful father? Molly, angry and inarticulate and with no idea of what outcome she wants, because whatever happens, she's going to lose; Molly, who kissed me because she doesn't know any more how to be a little girl asking for help from an adult; Molly, who made excuses for him, even as she sobbed on my lap and told me how much it hurt when he forced himself inside her; Molly, who still loves her father. And, on the other side of the courtroom, James Michael Thornton, urbane and plausible and utterly charming; the seventeenth richest man in America, with the legal team that resources like that can buy. The horror of the cross-examination; some well-trained lawyer expertly taking Molly apart on the stand, looking for holes in her story. "Are you sure this really happened, Molly? Is it possible that you are just desperately unhappy and looking for attention? Was it truly your father, or was it someone else? If your father is convicted, you know that he will go to jail for many years? He'll be destroyed, body and soul. If you need to tell us now that it was all a mistake, Molly, no-one will be angry with you, you can go away and live your life in peace and this will all be forgotten…"_

_And even if she's strong and righteous and stands her ground and the jury believe her, even if he's actually found guilty, what will happen to her then? He's a giant of Wall Street, a true power in the land. His fall from grace will resonate across the country…his name and his crime will be front-page news across the world, the press will bribe or steal their way into possession of the photographs, and everyone, everyone will know all the ugly details what was done to her…_

"I don't think that can be the right way," he said softly, looking up at Stephanie. "After what she's been through already…_thirteen years old, _Stephanie, she was thirteen that first time…the things they'll have to do to her to get the evidence...the questions they'll ask her...I think, sweetheart, that your law has its limits, and this is one of them."

"What other way is there?" she asked him, but he could see from the look on her face that she knew what was in his mind.

"Justice," he said, grim-faced. "I know where he is. I can find him, now, this evening."

"And when you've found him, what will you do?"

"She asked me to keep him away from her. I owe it to her to try and do that, at least. I'll…make it clear to him…that he has to go far away from her, and never see or contact her again."

"But what happens if he won't?"

He looked at her steadily, and after a moment she nodded firmly.

"Yes," she said. "Yes. You're right."

"I can't do this unless you're absolutely sure that you agree," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "Because, if I have to…if it comes to that…this is going to have - consequences - for all of us. Not just for me. Not even just for you and me. But for Emma as well, and for the whole town."

"I know," she said. "It's okay. I'll be ready. Whatever it takes. Whatever you need to do, you know I'll back you to the hilt."

"You're absolutely sure? You know what I'll do if I have to, if there's no other way - and you're still absolutely sure?"

She looked at him for a moment, and he found himself remembering the expression on her face on the afternoon she had punched James Thornton on the jaw and knocked him out cold.

"We have a daughter too," she told him fiercely. "So yes, I am _absolutely_ sure."

He sat up and kissed her, then held her very tightly against him for a moment.

"Get ready to run," he whispered in her ear, and left her.


	15. Chapter 15 Broken Hallelujah

**Chapter Fifteen - Broken Hallelujah**

The sun had sunk low in the sky as he climbed up the ladder to the airship, and he could feel the chill in the air as the warmth of the autumn day quickly faded.

"Closet," he said softly to the ship, stripping off the cobalt blue tracksuit and folding it neatly away. Naked, he held the crystal tightly in his hand for a moment, wondering if this would be the last night he would ever wear it, then laid it gently on top of the folded blue suit. He dressed in a soft black sweatshirt and black tracksuit bottoms. His hand hovered over a black woollen hat, hesitating for a moment, then decided against it. He would face this, not as the Lazytown hero, but as himself; for this one time, he would not conceal who he was. He somersaulted into the seat of the airship and turned the wheel.

As he piloted the airship over Lazytown and towards Metropolis, he gradually became aware of something hovering on the edges of his vision. He had the feeling that he was being watched. He stopped the airship and turned around in the seat, baffled, but unable to shake the feeling. When he looked straight on, he could see nothing, but when he looked out of the corner of his eye at the wall near the door, he thought he could see the outline of a figure, leaning against the wall and sucking thoughtfully on a lollypop…

"Robbie?" he said at last. "Is that you?"

Silence.

"I _know _you're here, Robbie," he said. "And believe me when I tell you that tonight is _not _the night to get in my way. Stop that - whatever it is that you're doing - right now."

"Damn it," grumbled Robbie, materialising in front of him. "Thought I'd cracked it that time."

Sportacus climbed out of the seat.

"What are you doing here?" he asked wearily. Robbie grinned and raised his eyebrows, looking him up and down. "Robbie, please don't pretend to flirt with me, because I think we both know that neither of us is interested. Whatever it is that you are after, you're certainly not here because you wanted to see me naked."

Robbie rolled the lollypop thoughtfully around in his mouth, then took it out and examined it.

"Well, maybe that wasn't the _only_ reason, but don't sell yourself short. It certainly cheered up my evening. For a short guy, you're really kind of hot…"

Sportacus rolled his eyes.

"I don't have time tonight to play games with you. Just tell me what you want."

"Well, I certainly won't bother trying to be friendly if you're going to be so god-damned miserable about it," murmured Robbie, crunching his lollypop with relish. "Nice outfit, by the way. Going anywhere special?"

"Metropolis."

"Really? That's interesting. And for this meeting you've chosen to really push the boat out and dress in your very nicest…boring black sweatshirt. This isn't Hero business, then, I take it?"

"I am going to see James Thornton," said Sportacus without expression.

"I didn't know you two were friends."

"I don't remember saying anything about friendship."

"Ah. So he needs a little slapping around again, does he?" Robbie watched him closely as he turned away and opened another cupboard. "And what's he done this time? Is he still chasing after your lovely wife?"

Sportacus gave him a look so grim that Robbie flinched and took a step backwards.

"I see," he said, trying to recover his poise. "My God, and I thought you were angry with him that night in his living-room. So you finally found out too. Oh, wait a minute, _no_, I didn't mean - I _swear_, I didn't know for sure myself before yesterday - I was out of town or I'd have told you straight away - Lord knows I'm not a saint, but you can't think I'm so much of a ghoul that I'd let _that_ carry on without saying something - "

Sportacus sighed and lowered his fist, and ran his hands through his hair.

"I'm sorry," he said wearily. "That was unfair. No, Robbie, I don't think you're that much of a ghoul. But I would like to know how you found out."

"Oh, I have my sources…I really would have told you myself, you know. In fact I was on my way to do exactly that when I saw you bringing her home. Much as it pleases me to thwart you and generally get on your nerves, some crimes really are unforgivable…"

"So we're agreed," said Sportacus.

"And what are you going to do about it?"

"Try and…persuade him…that he needs to disappear from her life for ever."

"And if he declines to be persuaded?"

Sportacus shrugged.

"Then I am going to have to kill him."

Robbie stared at him in shock.

"What? If you have _any other suggestions_, Robbie, please do tell me, because I know you are a very clever man and maybe you can see some way that I can't. But if not…" he shrugged.

"You're very calm about it…or are you?" Robbie stared at him hard for a second. "No, actually you're not. This is absolutely tearing you up inside, isn't it?…Oh_, now _what on earth have I said? Ah. Yes, that was quite a tasteless turn of phrase, wasn't it, all things considered. I'm sorry, really; and just for once I actually mean it."

"Forget it. But if you don't like what I'm planning…then please, do feel very free to go away and leave me in peace. This is…difficult enough as it is."

"Oh, I agree with you that something needs to be done. But I wonder…are you really going to go through with it?"

"You don't think I can take him on?"

"My dear boy, I'm damn well _certain_ you can. And if it was all happening in a neat little vacuum, I'd be booking a ring-side seat to watch…but before you go charging off to do the dreadful deed, have you given any thought to what happens afterwards?"

"I really don't have time for this conversation, Robbie," said Sportacus. "Door." He took something out of a small, low cupboard and tucked it inside his boot.

"So you have. Hmm. Are you going to stay and face the consequences? It's a mandatory life sentence for murder, you know. Or are you going to run?"

"Shut up, Robbie, please." He slipped something inside his sleeve.

"Prison's not a good experience, you know. I've seen the inside of a cell once or twice - nothing that stuck, but I've done a few weeks on remand while they decided they couldn't pin anything on me after all. It's like…like looking into hell. Even for a man like me. Are you really sure about this?"

Sportacus looked at him for a moment.

"Hell is what Molly Thornton lived through," he said briefly, and turned back to his preparations.

"Well, you know," said Robbie, putting another lollypop in his mouth, " - would you like one of these, by the way? No? Suit yourself - you could always pack up your family and _go home_. But then, that's got its problems too, hasn't it? Your little girl, Emma; she's got the Gift, hasn't she? She can do what you can do, and much, much more, and all without any… technical support. Oh, don't give me that menacing look from under your eyebrows; I know I'm right. Let's see if I can remember this right…one in ten thousand of your people…one in _ten million_ of ours…and frankly, it's so rare for one of you to marry one of us and actually have a child that no-one knows what the odds are there. A bit of a fluke of nature, your daughter, in every way. Did Stephanie know about all of that when you got her pregnant? Have you warned her yet what a _value_ the folks back home put on that talent your daughter's got? I wonder, do the Elves even know she _exists_?"

"For the very last time, Robbie - _I am not an elf_."

"Oh, and here's something else you might want to think about first - if you do kill him, whether you stay or go, either way, Lazytown's screwed. Tell me, Sportacus…is it really worth it? Is _Molly Thornton_, who you didn't know existed this time last year, worth destroying the whole town for? Is _she_ really worth going to jail for? Or alternatively, is she really worth dragging your wife away to a place where she'll always be that funny little human girl and your daughter will be some sort of holy freak? Molly's ruined anyway, whatever happens; she'll never get over what he did to her as long as she lives, so don't imagine you can put her back together and heal the damage. Why take the whole town down with her as well and - _ouch_ - "

Sportacus grabbed a handful of Robbie's clothes and lifted him effortlessly up against the wall.

"_Is she worth it?_" he whispered. "Robbie, we _all _failed her. Every single one of us. We all knew, Robbie, we could all tell there was something not right, she was surrounded by people who knew she was in trouble…but _still he was able to do it_. Do you even understand what that means? I don't care if I have to bring down the town to save her, Robbie, I don't care if I rot in jail for the rest of my life. We failed her. Now we all have to pay the price."

"And how about Emma and Stephanie?" gasped Robbie, trying to pull his collar away from his neck. "Do they deserve to pay too?" Sportacus hesitated for a second. "Now be a dear and put me down, won't you? You've made your point."

They looked at each other.

"Of course they don't deserve to pay," he said furiously. "But _neither does Molly_. This is the best solution there is. Go home now, please, Robbie. Go home and leave me to do my job." He put Robbie down on the floor and turned away.

Like a striking snake, Robbie's hand shot out and caught the other man around the wrist. He stabbed savagely with the needle hidden in his hand and pushed the plunger down. Sportacus stared at him in astonishment for a second; then his eyes went blank, and he fell to the floor.

"Never send a hero to do a villain's job," said Robbie bleakly, straightening his collar. He stepped over Sportacus's unconscious form and clambered uncomfortably into the airship's seat. "Ye Gods, you really _are_ shorter than me, aren't you?"

--

In the bathroom of his discreetly luxurious hotel room, James stared bleakly into the mirror. The Wolf stared back at him.

"I won't let you win," he whispered to his reflection. "I won't…I've beaten you before and I'll beat you again…" The bottle of Glenfiddich single malt he had brought with him, not trusting the hotel bar to stock his favourite tipple, stood next to the basin. He took a large mouthful, swilling it around his mouth to try and take away the dry, sour taste.

There was a knock at the door, and he wrapped himself in his black silk dressing-gown and went to open it. There was no-one there, but a tray with a large fillet steak, cooked blue, small salad on the side, was resting on the small table outside. _Don't remember ordering that…never mind…_mechanically he carried the tray into his room, but he had no appetite.

Molly's rucksack lay on the floor next to her bed. The sheets were crumpled in a tangle at the foot of the bed where she had kicked them off as she -

_No, I don't want to think about this, _he thought desperately.

_Remember, _said a voice in his head. _Remember…and atone._

--

When he was small, his grandmother had bought him a copy of _Little Red Riding Hood_. There was one particular illustration that had engrossed him for hours. Little Red walking through the wood, her basket on her arm, her long hair flowing around her; and, leaning against the trunk of a tree, a wickedly handsome hybrid of man and animal, was The Wolf…

"He's fascinated with that page," his mother had said indulgently one day, ruffling his hair. "I guess they always love what scares them." But it had not been fear that made him pause and gaze at that one particular page, sometimes for an hour at a time; it was recognition.

The Wolf had lived inside him for as long as he could remember. But it wasn't until he hit his teens and discovered girls that he really came to appreciate what the Wolf wanted. That first time, with the girl a year older than him who had liked the way his gym shorts fitted, in the back of the alleyway…

_You know what I want,_ the Wolf whispered in his head. _Take it. You'll like it, I promise…_

And he had taken what he wanted - what the Wolf wanted - and afterwards he had sworn he loved her, she was so beautiful, he just couldn't help himself…and inside, where no-one could see, the Wolf had licked his lips in satisfaction and gloated over the way she had struggled and kicked and then finally succumbed to his greater strength. That was the first time. There had been many others.

--

"It _wasn't me _who did that to Molly," said James out loud in the silence of the hotel room. "It was the Wolf. He was too strong for me. I'd made him wait too long…"

_Have a drink. It'll help…_

He took another large swallow of whiskey straight from the bottle. The taste was bitter in his mouth.

Over the years, the two of them had reached an accommodation. The Wolf had made him strong and ruthless, had driven him on to undreamed-of success. And, in return, from time to time, he had given the Wolf a little of what he wanted. Rough, aggressive sex, with girls who liked it that way -

_- and sometimes girls who didn't, but they were too dazzled by you to refuse? And maybe a few who didn't suspect the Wolf even existed until it was far too late, and you had them where you wanted them and there was nowhere for them to hide?_

"I never forced anyone," he said out loud. "Never. _I _never_ - _it was always _him_. I never wanted to treat anyone like that…"

_Like Trixie? Did the Wolf want her?_

"Oh, Trixie, I'm sorry," he groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Yes, he did. Oh, she was his type, all right. God, the way she looked at me the first time I met her…but - I thought she'd understand - I thought she wanted the same thing - "

_You mean you chose to ignore what she told you. You knew, really, that she was frightened and hurt and wanted you to leave her alone. But the Wolf was prowling, wasn't he? He was hungry and demanding, and you had to feed him something, didn't you? It was Trixie or Molly, wasn't it? So…what about Stephanie?_

That was the strange thing, the miraculous thing; when he was with Stephanie, the Wolf fell silent and slunk away. She was the only girl he had ever known who had given him that strange inner peace when he looked at her. He had wanted to be gentle and loving with her; she was the one girl he would never allow the Wolf to have…

"If she hadn't turned me down," he muttered, and drank deeply from the bottle. "If she'd just said yes when I asked her…I never wanted to destroy her marriage, I just wanted her to be kind to me…to share a little of herself with me…"

_Because she kept the Wolf from the door, so to speak? Ahhh, now it makes sense. Well, you're certainly not the first…less than saintly character…to succumb to his better nature as a result of her healing presence. But she had the sense not to come anywhere near you, didn't she? She looks like such a helpless, sweet little girl, doesn't she? But there's a strength in her you never imagined…_

"There was no-one else," he said into the accusing silence of the bedroom. "You can't buy it in Lazytown the way you can in a big city. God knows, I've paid for it often enough in the past - girls _he_ wanted…"

_Young girls, James? Did he want them young and frail and vulnerable, skinny and undersized, half of them drug-addicts, most of them beaten by their pimps to keep them in line, all of them cowed and desperate, shipped in from Russia and Eastern Europe and China and Vietnam?_

"Who are you?" he said in puzzlement. "It feels like my own thoughts, but it's not…is there - is there somebody here?"

_Maybe it's the voice of your conscience, James. Time to confess. So, have another drink. And tell me about Molly._

"Oh, no, I don't want to talk about that…"

_Yes, you do. What man doesn't like to brag about his conquests?_

"She wasn't a conquest, she was a - a horrible mistake, an accident…"

_Tell me._

"It was just after Katrina died," he whispered, and drank again from the bottle.

--

The cancer had travelled swiftly through Katrina's body. From the first day she had called him to the bathroom - "Honey, does that feel like a lump to you?" - to the day he and Molly stood side by side and threw handfuls of soil onto her coffin, was a scant and ugly eight months. He had looked down at this white-faced little girl by his side and realised he hardly knew her at all. She had been growing up in his house, their paths had crossed from time to time, and that was all. But now she was all he had in the world, and he was all she had…_got to do better_, he thought. _Got to step up and be a father at last._

So he had made a concerted effort to get to know her. He found that she was tough and funny and disconcertingly streetwise. To his total surprise, he also found that he genuinely enjoyed her company. They spent days browsing the malls, and took lunch together whenever he could find the time, alternating their restaurant choices. He was amused to discover that she adored sushi, while she was completely repulsed by his passion for red meat.

He moved out of the bedroom he and Katrina had shared and took the adjoining room to hers so he could hear her in the night when she cried. Sometimes, on the bad nights, when she cried for her mother until her pillow was soaked with tears, she would crawl into his bed and sleep in the crook of his arm.

And then, one night, he had woken from a darkly erotic nightmare about one of the girls he had been seeing on the side, before Katrina's illness had driven him to shut himself up tight like a hermit in his cell, and Molly was there in his arms. He had looked down at her, breathing hard in the aftermath of the dream, hot and horny and alone in this great big house apart from his daughter and the housekeeper, who slept at the other end of the house…

…and the Wolf had stirred within him, after months of a silence so profound that he had almost believed he had gone for ever. The Wolf had looked at Molly, wearing a short blue nightshirt with Tinkerbell printed on the front, the side of her hand pressed against her mouth. He had seen her high, firm, budding breasts, her slender hips with the beginnings of a womanly curve to them, the light down of pubic hair just beginning to show. And he, James, hadn't been strong enough to hold him off from taking what he wanted…

Afterwards, when he had come back to his senses and realised what he had done - no, damn it, what _the Wolf_ had done - even though she was torn and bleeding and could hardly stagger to the bathroom to throw up afterwards because it hurt her so much to walk, even as the tears poured down her chalk-white face, it had been Molly who held him in her arms and stroked his head and whispered, "It's all right, Dad…I know you miss Mum…I know you didn't mean it…it'll be all right, I promise…"

--

"I never meant to be like my father," he said, beginning to feel very drunk now, but continuing to drink anyway, unable to get the sour taste out of his mouth. He hadn't drunk this much in years; he couldn't afford to, he needed to be in control. It was always when he had been drinking that the Wolf began to prowl…"I always swore I never would be. He died for what he did, and my God, he deserved to. My sister…he ruined her. Totally destroyed her. I knew - I knew it was in me too, you see. But - but I wasn't going to be like him…I thought I'd got the Wolf under control…never thought he'd want Molly…"

_And then you heard about Lazytown, didn't you?_

"And then I heard…this rumour, this completely bizarre rumour…oddly enough, in a roundabout way I think it was Stingy and Pixel who started it…"

_--_

_Justyn Lewis, you are a fucking spineless coward,_ thought James to himself in amusement as they sat over lunch in the Palm Room, just off Lexington. Justyn was babbling wildly about these two hot new entrepreneurs who had caught him out over some sort of dodgy deal with a talking toaster in Asia.

"Where do they come from?" he asked idly, for something to say.

--

_And what happened while you were searching? Did the Wolf stay away from Molly?_

"I tried to keep him away…I admit it, I didn't always succeed…"

The nights when he - _the Wolf_ - had sent the housekeeper away with a bonus, to enjoy a night off in the city and a room at the Waldorf Astoria. "Have a night off, Consuela, you work yourself into the ground for us. My treat. Molly and I can survive for a night." Molly, coming home from school or from a friend's house, finding him alone in their home, prowling the corridors, filled with need. The look of sheer terror on her face as the colour drained from it - he had been sick with horror, but the Wolf had relished it. The taste of whiskey on his breath as he took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, in a parody of tenderness. The sharp smell of blood in the room afterwards, the remorse that filled him as he sponged the blood from her thighs with his own hands…

_--_

And then, finally, at last, the day he had got that letter from Mayor Meanswell. He still had it somewhere. An invitation to the meeting of his life.

And in that room, he had met Sportacus and shaken his hand, and he had seen that flash of recognition in his eyes when, just for a minute, the Wolf had looked back at him from James's face.

--

"Is there somebody there?" asked James, slurring his words now, feeling his head spinning. "It feels like there's somebody there."

"Yes," said a voice, by his ear. "I'm here."

James turned his head and saw, without surprise, that there was a man sitting next to him on the bed. His outline was fuzzy. _Must be the whiskey, _he thought.

"Who are you?" he asked hazily.

"Don't you recognise me?" said the voice.

"No…should I? Who are you?"

"Nemesis," said the man, smiling. "The cold-hearted retribution of the Gods, who exacts payment from those who succumb to Hubris, believing that everything on this earth is theirs for the taking…" Gradually, he seemed to come into focus.

"Robbie?" James blinked up at him. "Is that you?"

"Yes, James...it's me."

"I was kind of…expecting…someone else."

"Ah yes. Well, he has your daughter safe, don't worry. He was on his way here to kill you, my friend. But, do you know, I just couldn't let him do it? So I got him with a hypo full of glucose solution and now he's out cold on the floor of his own airship. I thought you'd rather see me instead, you see. We're both monsters, James, although I'm a different kind than you are. I thought you might like to talk to someone who'll understand…"

"I never meant to," insisted James thickly, through the whiskey fumes.

"I know that," said Robbie, still smiling. "I'm here to help you, you know."

"How can you help?" asked James.

"Have another drink. You'll need it."

"Don't you want to join me?"

"No, thank you, I believe I won't. I can help you, James, but you have to ask me." Robbie's eyes were glittering, their pale grey irises shining silver in the dim light of the hotel room. His face was only inches from James's own.

"What are you talking about?"

"I can get rid of the Wolf. If you really want me to."

"How? Nobody can. He's - he's in me…can't get rid of him…tried long enough…"

"You can't, but I can. I'll make him go away, James, I swear it. He'll never touch Molly again."

James squinted through the whiskey fumes.

"You shwear?"

"We're friends, aren't we?"

"I shuppose - I suppose we are…how am I thish drunk? I know it'sh…been a while…but …still…"

"Indeed. I hope the Scottish nation will forgive me for ruining an excellent single malt. Another gift from the Gods; Morpheus, the God of Sleep…morphine, my friend. Left over from my lover's supply, after he was in a car accident."

"You never…called him that before…"

"Maybe just for tonight I thought it was time to be completely honest."

"Did you…give me…an overdose?"

"No, no. Just enough to keep you quiet and compliant. Come with me." Robbie pulled James to his feet and led him to the bathroom. The tub was filled with steaming hot water.

"Let's get you out of this dressing-gown," murmured Robbie, unfastening the belt and letting it slip from James's shoulders in a whisper of silk.

"You better not be trying to fuck me," said James thickly. "I might be - be drunk but - I'm not quite - not quite that drunk…" he swayed a little and Robbie steadied him.

"You're way too hairy for my liking," murmured Robbie. "Too hairy, and not nearly pretty enough. Don't worry, your honour is entirely safe with me." He helped James into the bathtub.

"What the fuck…" James closed his eyes. The room was spinning around him. "What the fuck are we doing? Is this - some sort of exorcism?"

"You could say that." Robbie knelt next to the tub and took James's hand, holding it tightly.

"Fucking queer. Leggo my hand…"

"Look me in the eye, James. Tell me. Do you want the Wolf to go away?"

"Yesh."

"You want him dead and gone?"

James swallowed, then nodded.

"Dead and gone."

Robbie's face was dead white in the harsh light of the bathroom, and his eyes were burning.

"Stephanie Anne Milford," he murmured to himself. "The things I do for you…"

James saw something flash briefly past his eyes, and then a sharp pain travelled down his arm, beginning at the inside of his wrist and ending at his elbow. He stared at it, confused, as a slow snake of scarlet began to make its way down his arm and escape into the bathtub. Calmly, Robbie reached for his other arm.

"What're you doing?" James slurred. "That hurts…"

"Exactly what you asked me to…getting rid of the Wolf." More pain and then another scarlet snake, sliding and winding around his other arm, surprisingly warm against his skin, disappearing into the water…

"You killin' me, Robbie?"

"I'm afraid so, yes."

"Thought you shaid…said…you'd get rid of…the Wolf…"

"Don't you understand by now, James? _There is no Wolf._ The Wolf is you, James… he's your own inmost nature. The only way to get rid of him…is to kill you. Don't worry, I'll stay with you until it's over."

"Makin' sure I don't - don't crawl out? Phone for help?"

"Maybe. Maybe I just don't think even you should have to die alone."

James smiled crookedly.

"_I am…the enemy you killed…my friend_," he whispered. "Never thought …thish would be…you, Robbie. Had it - in my head - that fucking pointy-eared weirdo…in the blue - the blue trackshuit - damn it - tracksuit…would do me…for fucking his wife…I owe you fifty bucks…"

"I already collected."

"Betcha did, you bashtard…" He had always imagined he would fight death to the last, but the whiskey, the morphine and the warm water were filling him with a deep peace that was hard to resist...

Time passd. James squinted at the water; it was slowly turning red.

"How long…?" he asked softly.

"Not long now. Anything you want to say?"

"Tell Molly I love her…" he could feel a different kind of dizziness filling him. The water embraced him.

"Hmm. Well, I'll give that some thought. Anything else?"

With the last strength in his body, James laughed.

"Yeah…I can't believe…the lasht thing I'm going to see on this earth…is your fucking ugly face…"

"The word you want is _joli-laid_," said Robbie composedly. "Goodbye, James."

--

Stephanie had packed clothes, Emma's favourite toys, a few books, all the photographs; Emma was asleep in her own room, Molly was still deeply asleep on the huge double bed. She had written a note to her Uncle, telling him she loved him and asking him to take care of Molly. Now there was nothing left to do except pace the living-room floor, and wait…

She heard the soft whirr of the airship going over, and ran to the back door. She could see the outline of a man climbing awkwardly down the ladder, carrying someone over their shoulder. She stared in complete bafflement; the man looked like…

"Your husband," grumbled Robbie, panting as he carried him in through the door, "is a lot heavier than he looks. Give me a hand, would you, Barbie darling?"

"What _happened_?"

"Shot of glucose solution. He'll be fine once you've waved a slice of apple under his nose." Robbie carried Sportacus into the living-room and dropped him unceremoniously on the rug. "Oh, don't look at me like that. He'll be fine there. I'm not giving myself a hernia trying to get him onto the sofa." He stared at Stephanie. His face was pale and there were dark, rusty stains on his cheeks and hands.

"Robbie," whispered Stephanie. "What have you done?"

"_What needed doing,_" said Robbie. He gazed into Stephanie's face and saw her eyes fill with a dark, savage gladness that mirrored his own.

"But why did _you_ - "

His eyes were burning bright.

"Because I love you."

An electric silence stretched out between them.

"Oh, not quite in the way your husband does," he said, his eyes never leaving her face. "In fact, I may be the only man in this town under fifty who doesn't secretly long to get you into his bed. Nevertheless, I love you…_with the passion put to __use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith_, as a very bad and sentimental poet once said. You're bad for my soul, Barbie. You see the good in me, even where there isn't any. You forced me to be happy, even when I didn't want to be. Your husband saved David's life last year, but you were the one who gave me the faith that I could actually do it, the whole soppy, idiot, falling-in-love thing. And because of that, you make me want to be something I'm not…you make me want to look after you…you make me want to be…well, maybe not quite a hero, but still…do you know, I think I'd actually miss you if you had to skip town? Although I'll never admit it after tonight."

She reached out and laid her hand flat against his face, and he let it rest there.

"And what about you? Where are you going to run to?"

"They won't catch me," he said, smiling. "I'm a master of disguise and an all-round evil genius…didn't you know?"

"Robbie…" she shook her head.

He took her hand from his face, held it for a minute, and then kissed it softly.

"The things I do for you," he said, smiling crookedly. "I've said it before and I'll say it again, no doubt…If they do catch me, Barbie, promise you'll look after David."

"Of course I promise," she said. "Now go home and take a shower. You're covered in _his_ blood."

--

He showered and changed at what he thought of as "the old place", mindful of the possibility of capture, even though he was certain he had left no traces of his presence in the hotel room. He looked longingly at the box he had stolen from Pixel, then, with a sigh of deep regret, took a hammer and smashed it into pieces. He sat for a long time in his chair, nibbling the end of a pen and covering sheet after sheet of paper with graceful copperplate handwriting.

When he finally arrived home, David was asleep, breathing deeply, his face pressed into his pillow. Robbie tucked the envelope carefully into the linen chest under the window, then slid into the bed beside him, his hands trembling and his mouth dry with longing, pressing himself urgently against David's welcoming warmth.

"That feels nice," sighed David sleepily, turning around and kissing him. "Hey, you _are _pleased to see me…_wow_…God, you're really revved up tonight…Robbie, that's lovely, but what's the rush?…and where have you been, anyway?"

"Killing monsters," murmured Robbie in his ear.


	16. Chapter 16 Hotel California

**Chapter Sixteen - Hotel California**

David awoke very late the next morning to find the bed next to him empty. Sitting up and stretching, he was astonished to see Robbie come in through the door of the bedroom with a tray. On the tray were mugs of coffee, _pains au chocolat_, glasses of orange juice, and a vase with a tall daisy in it. Robbie saw the look on his face and laughed.

"If you look in the dictionary under _baffled_…" he said, putting the tray down. "_Do_ shut your mouth, David, the gormless look really isn't your best one."

"Robbie, in the year and a half I have lived with you, you have never _once_ been up before me," said David, still staring. "Even when I was on crutches and doped up to the eyeballs on painkillers, you _still_ always slept later than me. And you _never_ make breakfast. Well, sometimes you brought me a slice of that weird blue cake, but..."

"You poor barbarian child, don't you know what these are?"

David shrugged.

"Pastries."

"Indeed. In French, _patisseries_. A category which also includes - ha ha, ho ho - _the cake_. A very civilised nation, the French; they truly understand the importance of saturated fat in creating a world-beating cuisine. As you'll soon find out." He looked at David, and his eyes gleamed. "But first…" he shrugged his dressing-gown off and slid underneath the duvet. "Mmm. Now _this _is almost worth getting up early for. Almost. From time to time."

"What is? Ohhh…that feels _really _good…" Robbie was kissing the back of his neck, right in the tender place at the top of his spine, while his hand slid gently over the smooth, lightly muscled warmth of David's chest.

"Getting back into bed and finding you in it, all warm and sleepy and…now, this is _definitely_ an upside of having a partner half your age. Ready, willing and able at a moment's notice…"

"Does that mean…mmm….oh _yes_, please, just _there_, that's amazing…does that mean you're going to throw me out when I get older?"

"Oh, by the time you're old enough for it to be a problem I'll be long past caring," murmured Robbie, pressing himself tightly against David's body. "I think there's far more danger of you leaving me. Lucky for me that you're too sweet-natured to abandon me in my age and decrepitude…now, how about you just wriggle around a little and let me…"

David sighed with pleasure and closed his eyes.

"What's going on, Robbie? Are you…oh, that's good…are you…mmm…having an affair or something?" he asked, divided between suspicion and melting bliss.

"Because just for once I'm not being completely hideous?" Robbie paused, and chuckled to himself. "I think we both know that I don't really do Guilty Conscience. However, if we're going to be honest, I did get a quite unexpected look at our Above Average Hero in the buff last night…"

"You _what_?" David turned around so he could look into Robbie's face. "No, you're not fooling me with _that _one, that man is so straight you could - "

"Use him as a plumb-line? Tragically, this is true. But, nonetheless…"

David stared angrily."You're actually serious, aren't you?" He paused, then looked at Robbie eagerly. "So tell me… what was it like?"

Robbie raised his eyebrows and smiled a little.

"I see. So it's like that, is it? I've always suspected you had something of a crush on him. Good thing for me he's not interested in men, otherwise I'm sure I'd have no chance of holding onto you…well, it was certainly a bright spot in an otherwise rather ghastly evening. But you're even more beautiful. Now stop glaring like that and come here." He drew David into his arms and kissed him softly, stroking his hair back from his forehead.

"Why are you being so nice?" asked David dreamily as Robbie showered his chest with kisses, working his way slowly down his body.

"I'll tell you later…"

"Promise me…oh, _God_, that's - " David gasped and bit his lip. "_Jesus,_ that feels fantastic…no…just promise me this isn't because…oh…mmm…because you've been with someone else…"

Robbie sighed, and moved back up the bed so that his face lay next to David's on the pillow. David groaned in frustration and Robbie smiled, stroking his cheek.

"Just for being so suspicious of my intentions," he murmured, "I'm going to make you wait a minute while I answer. Now look at me, please, because for once in my mis-spent life I'm going to be honest. There hasn't been _anyone _else_,_ as far as I'm concerned, since that first night I saw you at the bar in the Bath House. I cancelled a booking with someone else when I saw you, did you know that? Paid him off and went straight to the desk to ask about you. You were booked already, booked solid for the next ten days, in fact. It felt like I was waiting forever, feeling more than a little jealous, before I could get close enough to see if you were as delicious as I'd imagined. And believe me, David, you were…now, this is why I'm never nice to you ordinarily, you see? It only makes you cry." He hesitated. "David…my dear - my love...there's - there's something I've been meaning to say to you…oh, now, if you do _that_ then I'll only get distracted…I warn you, this may only be a - ohhh - a temporary aberration…you may very well wake up tomorrow and find that I'm back to my normal…mmm…charming and sarcastic self…David, you are _sinfully _good at this, do you know that…? Really, if I don't tell you now, then you may be waiting…ahh…a very long time before I feel like saying it again…"

"I already know," said David, licking and nuzzling.

"Still needs saying," mumbled Robbie, shame-faced. "I should have said it before."

"Shut up," whispered David fiercely, and then neither of them spoke for a long, slow, ecstatic time, until at last they lay exhausted and sated and breathless in each other's arms.

"I guess that's why they call it making love," said David without thinking, then glanced apprehensively at Robbie. Robbie smiled and stroked his back gently.

"I guess it is," he murmured, and kissed the top of David's head. "Damn it, that coffee's gone cold."

"I'll stick it in the microwave," said David, getting out of the bed.

"You will do no such thing, you ghastly product of the McDonald's generation," said Robbie firmly. "Get the percolator out and make a fresh pot. Go on. I made the last one. It's your turn."

"Now _there's _the man I fell in love with," said David wryly as he left the bedroom.

"I told you it wouldn't last."

Hours later, they were sitting in the kitchen, still in their dressing-gowns and smiling at each other occasionally, when the knock at the door came. Robbie looked at David, and for just one moment his eyes were wild. Then he lowered his eyelids, smiled, and went to answer the door.

"Mr Robert Rotten?" asked the overweight, crumpled-looking detective who stood on the doorstep. Next to him was a younger uniformed officer.

"Detective McDoughnut, is it really you?" said Robbie, leaning against the door-frame. "What a perfectly hideous sight on such a beautiful afternoon. And who's this pretty, fresh-faced thing you've brought along with you?"

"Just a little back-up in case you're going to be difficult," said the Detective. "You gonna be difficult, Rotten?"

"Am I? I don't know. I haven't decided yet. What's this all about?"

"James Thornton was found dead in his hotel room at seven o'clock this morning," said the Detective bluntly. David gasped and the Detective looked at him shrewdly. "Looked like a suicide. More or less."

"More or less?"

"Yeah. Almost good enough to pass. Boss wanted me to write it up and close it down. But unfortunately for you, I had this _feeling_…just a coupla…inconsistencies. And you know what, Rotten? _Your name came up._" The Detective leaned forward menacingly. "So you can come with me right now, do your civic duty, and help me clear up a couple of outstanding issues…or…"

"Or you'll arrest me and drag me from the house kicking and screaming, with only my expensive silk underwear to cover my modesty?" asked Robbie, smiling. "I bet _you'd_ enjoy that, wouldn't you, pretty boy? No, don't answer, I know it's not really on for cops to be openly gay out here in the boondocks. Hmm…" his eyes went blank for a second. "All right. I'll play. Give me five minutes to get dressed, and I'll be all yours."

"You go with him," said the Detective, motioning to the uniformed policeman.

"I hope you're not planning on rummaging through my underwear drawer," said Robbie over his shoulder as he headed for the bedroom. "You know you need a warrant for that, right? And I'm guessing you haven't managed to scare one up yet, have you?"

"Just put your clothes on, Mr Rotten," said the officer patiently.

"Do you have a name, by the way? If you're going to be watching me while I'm naked, it would be nice to have a name to go with that pretty face…"

"Lieutenant Santiago." They disappeared.

"So," said the Detective, sitting down at the table and looking at David. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"No," said David shortly.

"I remember you. You look a lot better than when we last met. Your hair's grown back. Got some colour again. How's the leg?"

"Fine, thanks."

"Don't talk much, do you?"

David shrugged.

"A little tip, pal. _James Thornton was murdered._ I fuckin' _know_ it. And somehow, your boyfriend's involved. So, if there's anything you want to get off your chest…" he flipped a small oblong of cardboard across the table. "Call me any time."

David looked at him with contempt.

"Are you trying to convince David to peach on me?" asked Robbie, sidling back in. Lieutenant Santiago followed; his cheeks were tinged scarlet. "Not a chance, fat boy; he knows better than to come to _you _if he wants to clear his conscience. Now are you going to let me say goodbye in peace, or - ?"

"Just get on with it, please," said the Lieutenant.

Robbie wrapped his arms ostentatiously around David, letting his hands slide down over his buttocks. The Lieutenant blushed even more deeply and looked away, but the Detective simply shrugged, his eyes never leaving Robbie's face.

"Ain't no point trying to embarrass _me_, Rotten," he said, smiling. "I've seen it _all_ before, trust me."

"I'm sure you have," said Robbie. He looked down at David. "I'll be back later. If I'm going to be late, I'll call you, but mind you change the sheets. It's Thursday, remember." He kissed him, slowly and lingeringly.

"Wouldn't count on him being home any time soon," murmured the Detective. He led Robbie away to the patrol car.

--

"Get you a coffee, Rotten?" asked the Detective, sitting back in the chair.

Robbie glanced at the pale brown sludge in the Detective's plastic cup, and shuddered.

"Thank you, but I think I'd rather piss in my own shoe and drink that instead."

"Funny. Okay, let's get the formalities out of the way. Present in the interview room, Detective McLaughlin, Lieutenant Santiago, Mr Robert Rotten. Mr Rotten, I have to inform you that this session is being taped. Do you understand that you are not under arrest and you are free to leave at any time?"

"Gotcha," said Robbie, smiling.

"Any special reason why you're _not_ leaving?"

"It's my civic duty to help the police."

"Right. That or you're afraid I'll arrest your sorry ass if you try and walk out of here. I _know _you had something to do with all of this, Rotten. I'm going to get to the bottom of it. You can tell me now, make it easy for me, put me in a good mood with you before I put you away for life. Or you can be a fuckin' irritation, drive me nuts, hold everything back as long as you can, and I'll _still_ put you away for life, but I'll make it my personal mission to make sure you get sent to the biggest shit-hole outside of Sing Sing Prison."

"Or maybe I'll convince you I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about," said Robbie, leaning back in his chair. "So, Lieutenant, how's life on the Force? Is it everything you dreamed of? Harassing innocent citizens, simply because their tastes run to something rather more exotic than a quick fumble under the sheets with Mrs McLaughlin on birthdays and public holidays?"

"Have I said one goddamn homophobic word to you, Rotten?" growled the Detective.

Robbie stuck his tongue in his cheek and winked.

"Hit me with it, boys," he said, and smiled.

--

David stared in shock as they led Robbie to the patrol car parked outside, and drove away. Unwillingly, he remembered that strange exchange between him and Robbie last night, when he had come in late and flustered and uncharacteristically needy, clinging to David as if he was trying to anchor himself in the world once more…

_(Where have you been, anyway?_

_Killing monsters…)_

And then, this morning, Robbie's totally unexpected tenderness as they lay together in the late morning sunshine…_as if he was saying goodbye…mind you change the sheets, he said as they took him away. What a totally Robbie thing to say…he's obsessed with clean sheets, normally once a week's enough, only changed them two days ago…why did he go with them, anyway? Why didn't he wait until they came back with a warrant…? _He stared thoughtfully at the linen chest under the window sill.

A minute later he was rummaging frantically through it. He found the letter almost at once, tucked between two neatly folded sheets in the centre of the pile. The copperplate handwriting on the front of the envelope read, _To the love of my life._

Feeling his fingers tremble, he tore open the envelope.

--

"You don't seem very surprised by any of this," observed the Detective, sitting back in his chair.

"Should I be?"

"Shouldya be surprised that a rich, successful man would suddenly off himself in the nicest hotel in Metropolis? Well, you tell me, Rotten; _is_ there any reason why he mighta done it?"

"What makes you think I'd know?" asked Robbie, yawning. "Do you have any English tea, by any chance? Earl Grey would be nice."

"You hung out together a lot," said the Lieutenant suddenly, leaning forward.

"And at last it speaks…'hung out'? Good God. How old are you, anyway? If by 'hung out' you mean 'spent some time together drinking and swapping war stories' then yes, it wasn't totally unknown. So?"

"So what did you two talk about?"

"Greek tragedies," said Robbie, smiling. "Politics. Romantic encounters. The news of the day. What does it matter?"

"Anything…personal?"

"He once described David as a catamite," said Robbie musingly. "And he called me an uptight queer a number of times…but then I did call him a pussy hound, so I suppose I deserved it. Is that personal enough for you?"

"He ever say anything about his relationship with his daughter?" asked the Detective.

For a fraction of a second, all three men sat in frozen stillness. Lieutenant Santiago looked blankly at McLaughlin. Robbie and the Detective stared at each other.

"His daughter?" drawled Robbie after a moment. "No, I can't say that the antics of a rather ordinary teenage girl were something we spent much time discussing. Why do you ask?"

--

Stephanie was in the garden playing hide-and-seek with Emma when David patted her apologetically on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," he said. "I just wondered if I could ask you for some help…"

His face was white and there were tears in his eyes. Stephanie put her arms around him.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"Robbie's down at the police station."

"He's been _arrested_?"

"No, he's just answering questions…but…"

They looked at each other for a minute, and saw the terrible knowledge in each other's eyes.

"What can I do to help?" she asked at last.

"I wondered if you'd keep something for me," he whispered, and she saw that he was clutching an envelope. "He told me to get rid of it, but I don't think I can bear to…just in case…" Fiercely, he wiped the tears from his eyes. "It's the only time he's ever told me, you see…"

--

"This is getting boring," said Robbie, sighing. "Why don't you just get on and ask whatever it is that you want to ask?"

The Detective sighed.

"Okay, Rotten, you're right. This _is_ getting boring. I'll cut to the chase. James Thornton was found naked in the bathtub, both arms cut from wrist to elbow. Musta bled out in less than twenty minutes."

"Well, that one writes itself, doesn't it?" asked Robbie, shrugging.

"Except we found a bottle of whiskey."

"So he needed some Dutch courage."

"Want to guess what the lab rats found in the bottle, Rotten?"

"Whiskey?"

"Fucking hilarious. Morphine."

"A whole whiskey bottle full of morphine? How extravagant. And rather hard to get out again, one would have thought…"

"It was dissolved in the whiskey," interposed the Lieutenant patiently.

Robbie stared at the ceiling and smiled to himself.

"_Really_? And I was actually _picturing_ a bottle crammed to the brim with white powder…"

"Your boyfriend David was in a car accident last year, wasn't he?" asked the Detective.

"Your powers of recall do you great credit."

"Wasn't he was prescribed morphine for a while?"

"Why? Did you find his fingerprints on it?" Robbie stretched his long, lean legs out beneath the table. "You know, these chairs play havoc with the lumbar muscles. I can see a whole series of lawsuits right there…"

"Actually, we found yours."

"On the morphine?"

"On the whiskey."

Robbie sat up in the chair and turned his pale grey eyes slowly and disbelievingly on the Detective's impassive face.

"What on _earth _are you talking about?" he asked.

"We found your prints on the whiskey bottle," said the Detective, slowly and clearly. "James's were all over it…and then, one perfect thumb-print right near the label. Didn't match the corpse. Wasn't the maid. Wasn't the barman. Wasn't anyone in the hotel. So we put it into the computer. And imagine my surprise when _you _popped out."

Robbie looked at him in amusement and disbelief.

"This can't possibly be true," he said. "There is simply _no possible way_ - "

"Forensics don't lie," said the Detective, smiling. "You got anything you want to tell me, Rotten? Anything at all?"

Robbie leaned back in the chair again and closed his eyes.

"Not a thing," he said idly. Behind the shuttered privacy of his closed eyelids, his mind raced.

--

"What do you reckon?" asked Santiago, as they stood behind the mirror and watched Robbie. After trying and failing to get comfortable in the metal chair, he had lain down full-length on the floor, and appeared to be asleep.

"I know he's got something to do with this," replied McLaughlin. "Fuckin' _know_ it. I can feel it in my water, boy. But that fingerprint probably ain't gonna nail it."

"Even though we found it at the _crime scene_?" asked Santiago disbelievingly. "I don't get why you didn't just arrest him straight off. We've got _evidence _that puts him at the scene - "

"Yah, we _might _have, but personally I doubt it…it ain't that good of a hotel, you see." He laughed at the expression on the younger man's face. "You'll get there. In the meantime…we're just gonna have to blag it. Hustle a little. Kid on like we've got more than we have. See what we can get him to own up to. They're still searching hotel records. Been there most of the afternoon. So I reckon we've got about - " he checked his watch - "four more hours to break that cocksucker in there - no offence, by the way - "

"Look, Detective, I - "

"Hey now. Don't care if you are, don't care if you aren't. Told him, now I'm telling you; I've seen it _all _before. Come on. We've got a job to do."

--

"I've worked it out, you know," said Robbie, still lying on the floor with his eyes shut.

"Get up off the floor, please, Mr Rotten," said Santiago patiently.

"Why? Is it the _rules_ that I have to be sitting in that hideously uncomfortable chair? I bought him a rather good bottle of single malt Glenfiddich a few months ago as a present. He must have taken it with him."

"Can you prove that?" asked Santiago.

"Can I _prove _it?" Robbie laughed. "My fingerprints are on the bottle. Will that do?"

"Ha ha," said McLaughlin. "Why the hell aren't you on the stage? You got a receipt, Rotten?"

"I never keep receipts for presents."

"Credit card statement?"

"I paid cash."

"Any chance the retailer might remember you?"

Robbie opened his eyes briefly and fluttered his eyelashes.

"Because I've got such a pretty face?"

He closed his eyes again. McLaughlin stared down at his prone form in frustration.

"You don't seem all that interested in saving your ass," he observed at last.

"And if you don't mind me saying so, _you_ don't seem all that committed to throwing it in jail. You've got a fingerprint that puts me at the scene. Surely that's enough to scare up a warrant? Unless…oh, _now _I see. Tell me, do they actually _stock_ well-aged Glenfiddich at the bar in the Metro Grand, McDoughnut?"

_Fuck_, mouthed Santiago to McLaughlin. McLaughlin shook his head and looked warningly at Robbie, who still appeared to have his eyes shut.

"Morphine; well, clearly I _might _have had access to that, but that only puts me on a par with every junkie in Metropolis. Something tells me your case is hanging by a thread, Fat Boy. Unless you're going to tell me you found my fingerprints on the _morphine_? No? Well, you never can tell…I'm so inexperienced in these matters, you see."

"Three counts of possession says you know what you're doing, Rotten."

"Fifteen years lapse says I'm a reformed character, Detective Piggly Wiggly. I've paid my debt to society."

"You mean you haven't been caught since…yes, what?" Someone knocked at the door and passed the Detective a piece of paper. He scanned it quickly and then clenched his fist in triumph. "You know what, Rotten? This is a copy of an order to a specialist liquor store from the Metro Grand. They ordered a case of that beautiful amber liquid seven months ago." He looked at Robbie for a reaction, but he continued to lie on the floor.

"And the case is probably gathering dust at the back of the stockroom," he murmured.

"I'll ask you again, Rotten…you got anything you want to tell me yet? Anything at all?"

"Nope," said Robbie. "Oh, actually yes, just one thing…that tie really doesn't go with your shirt. And neither of them go with your colouring. Try a nice plain lime green, against a white cotton shirt. Better yet, don't wear a tie at all. Your neck's too short to carry it off."

"I'll get right on it. See you later, Rotten. Unless you want to try and walk out of here, of course. I've probably got just about enough to arrest you by now."

"Far too comfortable," murmured Robbie. "Speak to you in fifteen minutes."

--

"_Could _we arrest him?"

"Hurrrrm…maybe. A good lawyer'd have him out of here pronto, though, at least until the damn stockroom search is finished. Imagine he'll squeal for representation the second I wave a warrant in his direction. Race against time to search his house. He's got _something_ hidden in there, or he'da sent me away, made me come back with a warrant. Although you'd think he'd just get rid of it while we were off getting the paperwork signed…I don't know. Who knows why he does what he does? Believe me, Santiago, that bastard's up to something. I'm gonna get to the bottom of it. Just need to - find his vulnerable spot…"

"Why are you so sure he had something to do with it?" asked Santiago curiously.

"_I just know._"

--

"You haven't turned the tape on," said Robbie. He was standing gazing at his reflection in the two-way mirror, minutely inspecting his hair. "Do grey hairs depress you too?"

"Gave up looking," said McLaughlin, shrugging.

"Wise man. How about your first grey _pubic _hair, though? My, that's going to be a bad moment, I imagine…ah, well. Onwards and upwards." He turned around. "We seem to be missing someone."

"Nope. Sent Santiago over to Metropolis to help with the stockroom search."

"Oho. So now we're going _off the record, _are we? I thought there might be something you wanted to say to me alone." He looked at the mug on the table. "Good God, is that actually Earl Grey tea?"

"Yup."

"Detective McDoughnut, you are a prince among men," said Robbie, smiling. "Of course, it should really be served in a bone china cup, with a dish of strawberries and cream to go with it, but nonetheless…" He picked up the mug and inhaled deeply. "Now _that _is the smell of civilisation."

"Don't get too used to it."

"Oh, fuck off, you miserable old bastard."

"Won't be too much Earl Grey where you're going."

Robbie laughed.

"And no butter in Hell? Have you read Stella Gibbons, I wonder? No, I thought not…and what on _earth_ makes you think I'm going to jail? I do believe I'm still free to walk out of here if I want to."

"Go ahead."

"I haven't finished this."

"You mean you know I'll arrest you. Second I arrest you I get a warrant. Second I get a warrant I'm round to your place to turn it over."

"So go ahead and arrest me," said Robbie, smiling dangerously.

"Too much paperwork."

"You mean you're still not _quite _sure you're going to get it signed off. Looks just that little bit too much like suicide, doesn't it? Your superiors told you to drop it, didn't they? You're sticking your neck on the line to try and get me, aren't you? And all you've got is your gut, and that fingerprint…which is curious, I admit, but I guarantee my story will check out."

"Assuming that case of whiskey turns up unopened in a stockroom somewhere."

"I have every confidence it will."

McLaughlin leaned closer.

"You know it doesn't have to be the _actual fuckin' bottle_, right?" he whispered. "All it takes is one bottle missing outta the case, and I've got means and opportunity. That's enough to arrest you. Arrest equals search of premises. And _whatever _it is you don't want me to find…I'll track it down, Robbie, believe me. After that - your defence lawyer can prove that bottle never came outta the stock-room all he wants. I'll have enough from the search to nail your ass." His eyes looked deep into Robbie's. Robbie gazed back at him blandly over the rim of his mug.

"You still need a motive," he observed at last.

McLaughlin smiled victoriously.

"_I've got one._"

Robbie raised an elegant eyebrow.

"Really? I'm all ears."

"Oh, I know you fuckin' are." His eyes never leaving Robbie's face, McLaughlin reached into his jacket and took out a brown manila folder. "You know what this is, Robbie?"

Robbie didn't flinch.

"Do tell," he said languidly.

"It's the result of a highly illegal search I conducted in my lunch break."

"Well, well, well…welcome to the wrong side of the tracks, dear boy. Good to see you here."

"Good to be here. Wanna know where I got it?"

"_Aching _to."

"A therapist's office. A few blocks away from the Metro Grand."

There was the briefest flicker of emotion in Robbie's eyes.

"Really? The _private medical records_ of a psychotherapist? What an eccentric choice. I hope you know there's zero chance of the contents ever seeing the inside of a courtroom."

"Don't need it to. Don't need it as evidence at all. Just wanted it to show you I _know_."

"Know what?"

"You know whose notes these are?"

"We both know I have the power of x-ray vision. I can read the name right through the folder."

"Molly Jennifer Thornton."

"And why would you want Molly Thornton's medical notes, I wonder?"

"Odd thing, her dad picking that therapist for her. He'd just joined the practice. So far she was his only patient. Two sessions a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. You got an alibi for those days, Robbie?"

Robbie snorted.

"Do I need one?"

"You might. Because later today…when the shift changes and the new fingerprint boys come on for the night…I'm goin' down there to get this folder dusted for prints. Strictly as a favour to me. Wonder what I'll find?"

"I couldn't possibly be less interested."

"You think your fingerprints might be on there, Rotten?"

"I think you're barking up the wrong tree, little doggie. But even _if _they were, which I'm not conceding for a minute, mind you, why would it matter?"

"Because of the notes. Page six of the third session. Know what it says? _Deep discomfort with body image. Borderline anorexic, ?? bulimic. Evidence of past self-harm. Unhappy with self. Unhappy with family relationships. Feels self to be isolated from peer group, constantly refers to being 'different', 'not a little girl like they are', 'older and wiser'. Displays startling precocity about sex and sexual relationships. Bleak view of own future._"

"So she's the screwed-up product of an overly privileged lifestyle."

"And then it says, _Suspect Molly is the victim of sexual abuse, perpetrated by her father._ And whoever wrote it underlined it five times. Went right through the paper every time."

They stared at each other.

"You know?" said McLaughlin at last, "if I knew something like that, I think I'd be pretty fuckin' motivated to do something about it. I might even think, _the system sucks at helping abuse victims. She's been through enough. Much simpler if he just…quietly offs himself. Maybe I'll even help him along his way…_"

"Or maybe he was overcome with remorse and did the deed himself. You do know, don't you, that _if_ what's in those notes is correct, it could just as easily explain his suicide?"

"Except that we both know _that wasn't how it went down_. A man like that don't choose morphine and a razor. He'd pick a line of coke and a handgun. A bottle of Veuve Cliquot and a car-crash. Something dramatic. Violent. The razor in the bathtub…that's what you'd choose if you needed some time to be sure…just in case you'd got it wrong. In case you'd made a mistake and needed to be able to fix it...allow a few minutes to get help…"

Robbie snorted.

"Dear God. Don't ever, _ever_ take up psychology as a sideline. I mean, really; just - _don't_. I'm not sure the world can take a fool like you rampaging around its collective unconscious."

"I ain't as clever as you, Rotten. Happy to admit it. But what I _am_ is a damn good cop. I know it wasn't suicide. I know you were in that room. This file gives me motive. If I can't use it, so what? I'll scare up another reason. He pissed off pretty much everyone in this town at some point, I'm sure you're on the list too. _I know it was you, _Robbie_. _Now I just need to prove it, and I ain't too fussed about how. You know what evidence is? _Props._ Props to make the story look believable. Want to bet your future on whether nobody else who's stayed in the Metro Grand in the last seven months knows as much as you and James Thornton about Scotch whiskey?"

"Oh, exquisite taste is the very rarest of commodities…I'm feeling pretty comfortable, Detective."

"Yeah, you look it, too. That's because you're a good liar. Think about it. You want to do easy time, or shitty time? Own up now and I'll make it easy time, okay facility, single occupancy cell, fix it so you can see your boyfriend occasionally."

Robbie gave him a penetrating stare.

"You think I killed a man who raped his daughter, and you're still going to try and put me away? How _do_ you sleep at night, Detective?"

"Hell, he did what that file says he did, I'll admit you had a point. But we both know it don't work that way. Justice ain't what this is about. I'm just the Law."

"Indeed you are. And I'm just the poor idiot you're trying to hang a non-existent crime on. No deal, Fat Boy. Sorry, and all that. Hope it doesn't cost you your next promotion."

There was a knock at the door. Santiago, tired and covered in dust, passed a note to McLaughlin. He scanned it rapidly, then looked at Robbie and smiled.

"Oh, _now_ you're in for it," he said. "_Now_ I've fuckin' got you. One more chance, Robbie Rotten. Anything you wanna tell me? Or shall we get Santiago in here and switch that tape back on?"

--

David stood silently in the bedroom, staring despairingly at the unmade bed.

"I might have known I couldn't leave you in charge of the housekeeping," said Robbie's voice in his ear. David gave a muffled shout of surprise, and then they were in each other's arms, clinging to each other like drowning men.

"I thought they must have charged you," he said at last. "I've been expecting the police all day, every car that went by I thought it must be them coming back to search the house…"

"Oh, that Detective, he wanted to," said Robbie, his voice blurred with fatigue. "My _God_, how he wanted to…he tried every bluff he had to convince me to squeal…nearly did it, too…" He shivered, and David held him gently. "Thank God for a case of unopened twenty-year-old cask-aged Glenfiddich. From such things hang the fate of empires. Did you…" he hesitated. "Did you change the sheets?"

"I found the letter, Robbie."

Robbie sighed and closed his eyes, resting his chin on the top of David's head.

"I'm so sorry."

"I don't care. About _any_ of it. I love you."

"And, even though I'm a coward, a liar and a murderer…I am…_damn_, it's still so hard to say…" He took a deep breath. "I am completely, hopelessly and irretrievably in love with you. There, I finally said it out loud. Just - don't expect me to tell you every day, okay?"

"I knew anyway."

"Really? How annoying. And I thought I was such a good actor…"

"Are you - are you really off the hook?"

"Unfortunately, I'm not sure I am. They haven't got enough to arrest me, but they've damn well got enough for an inquest. Clearly it wasn't natural causes, so it'll go before the Medical Examiner. And the Medical Examiner can summon anyone, ask any question, explore any avenue he likes…McLaughlin will have his day in court...and it may still come out that I had something to do with it…"

"Why? What else can they possibly find out?"

"Well, you see, David, to get to James I kind of had to…go through someone else. And, as we all know so very, very well…_he _can't tell a lie to save his life…"


	17. Chapter 17 In Praise of

**Chapter Seventeen -In Praise Of The Vulnerable Man**

Dear David, dearest, darling David,

This morning when I looked in the mirror, I found three grey hairs, right at the front, in the middle of my hairline. I pulled them out, of course, and washed them down the sink; but nonetheless, it was another reminder that nothing on this earth can endure for ever, however much we might wish that this could be.

I am writing this letter to you, my dear, in the hopes that you will never read it. When I get home I am going to hide it somewhere in our home, and if I'm as lucky as I hope I am, I will never ever need to tell you where it is, and we can live our lives without you ever having to know what I have done, and why I have done it.

So. First, a confession. David, my dear, I am going to tell you something that only one other person might guess, and he will forgive me because he planned to do the same; something that only one other person knows for sure, and she will never, never tell. Last night, David, I killed James Thornton; I heard him confess his crimes, and then I killed him. I killed him because he was a monster, and I feel not the slightest remorse for what I did. Or rather, if I regret anything, it is not that he is dead; it is only that, since you are reading this letter, I must have made some mistake that means that, after all, I may not escape the consequences of my actions.

I imagine that you'd like to know why I did it. Well, Molly Thornton, if she survives, may one day feel able to tell you the first reason herself. I suspect, my dear, that you may be one of the few people in the town who will be able to truly understand something of what she's lived through. I can't kill all of the men who abused you, David, the men who paid so handsomely to be allowed to fuck you any way they wanted and hurt you while they did it, who paid for something that - as a very old friend of mine once told me - should only ever be given freely. Apart from anything else, I have been one of those men myself; if not for you, then for plenty of other poor, lost boys who washed up on the shores of the Bath House. But there is at least one less monster in this world now, my dear; and, in killing him, perhaps I may have atoned in some small way for the damage I myself have done. Forgive me, David, for all the things I did and for all the things I didn't do; and most of all, forgive me for leaving you in that place for as long as I did. I will regret for ever that I never asked you to leave and come with me; that it took an HIV scare and a car accident to make me finally see how much, how very, very much, you mean to me.

As for the other reason? Well, the other reason was…that I did it to protect someone I love. You see, I wasn't the only one who knew what James had done; I wasn't the only one ready to see justice served. But I am, I suspect, the only one who has even half a chance of getting away with it. Please don't ever be jealous, my dear; I swear to you that you don't have a rival, nor ever will. I'll never have a daughter of my own, David, what with one thing and another; but if I did, I know who I would want her to grow up to resemble. And I simply couldn't stand by and watch while her life was destroyed by her husband's devotion to his Heroic duty.

David, you have asked me so many times about my youth, and so many times I've brushed you off and refused to answer. Maybe it's time I told you the truth about who I am, and why. Oh, I'm not hiding any murky childhood secrets, I'm afraid; there was no terrible dark stranger who raped me one night in the park, no wicked relative with wandering hands lurking in the woodshed. A childhood in Lazytown can at least protect you from all of _that_. I was a child of the change, as they say, which means that my mother had me most unexpectedly at the age of forty-six, having lived all of her married life until then childless, and consequently doted on me. Unfortunately, despite her passionate devotion, and my father's bemused pride, the simple truth is that I was an unattractive small boy; secretive, smart-mouthed, funny-looking, podgy and revoltingly precocious. I can see why I was such a target for the bullies. You once told me you have known since childhood that you were gay; well, my dear, so have I. My own personal revelation came while standing in the centre of a circle of my diminutive peers, all of us aged around five, I believe. They were dancing around me in a ring and chanting _Robbie Rotten is a big fat queer_. And indeed I was, David; indeed I was.

And so. Time passed; I grew up and shed the puppy fat; I discovered a talent for invention to rival Pixel Wright's; I found out that I was a rather fine actor. I also realised that, while my male classmates sighed and swooned over the prettiest girls, I myself was watching the boys from under my eyelashes. Guilty, ashamed and despising myself for what I wanted, as we generally did in small towns in those unenlightened days, I watched the boys; the boys, and someone else. The Town Hero. Oh, he was beautiful, David, as of course _they _always are; and he was kind, and gentle, and generous, and warm, and most of all accepting of me precisely as I was. And when he noticed me and took me into his arms, and then shortly afterwards into his bed, I did precisely what he warned me against, what he told me not to do; I fell completely and hopelessly in love with him.

The details are boring, my dear, and if you want the whole sorry saga I advise you to talk to Stephanie, who one way and another has heard it from every angle. The bare and ugly facts are that I was betrayed by someone I had trusted, and the Hero was sent away in disgrace, and he took my heart away with him. I followed him, as far as I could, and I stood for a long, long time at the boundary between our place and theirs…but ultimately, I failed. The leap of faith required was too much for me, and besides, he had always warned me against falling in love with him; he had always insisted that it could never be anything serious. Of course, I lied about how I felt; you of all people know how well I can lie when I have to. I told him that I felt the same, that it was nothing more than a blissfully wonderful fuck. For years afterwards I wondered if things might have been different if I had been a little more honest…but life is full of _if onlys_. Again, if you talk to Stephanie, she will be able to tell you what was needed for me to have any hope of finding him, for she herself had the courage that I lacked; she succeeded where I had failed; she took that leap to bring her own love back to her.

And so I came home alone and hating myself, and swore never to fall in love again. My mother and father, who came from a generation who had been taught that homosexuality was a wicked sin, left town to escape the shame of it all. My stern and upright father refused to see me ever again. My mother offered to give me a home - she, poor soul, still loved me, even enough to choose me over my father - but I declined. Instead, I spent, literally, _years_ in making myself and everyone around me as miserable as possible. Most especially, when after an interval of many years Sportacus arrived, I delighted in making a nuisance of myself to him, simply because he had taken the place of the man I had loved. Which he, of course, being the sweet and well-intentioned paragon that he is, put up with very patiently, never once reproaching me, or pointing out how pathetic it was for a grown man to behave like a small child stuck in what was, essentially, an extended twenty-year-long sulk.

So, my dear, when I first caught sight of you in the bar of the Bath House, my first thought was that I couldn't possibly be falling in love or anything like it. Even though the sight of you made me weak with longing, I told myself it was merely your good looks and perfect body. Even though the knowledge that other men were paying to spend time with you made me dizzy with jealousy, I insisted to myself that it was nothing more than a perfectly natural objection to sharing something so divine. I treated you in the worst possible way anyone could treat someone they love, David; I paid for your company, and I allowed others to pay, too. I can never, ever explain to you how sorry and how guilty I am that I allowed that to continue.

Nevertheless, by some miracle, you seemed to feel the same. I could see that you were falling in love with me, so I went out of my way to show you my most unpleasant characteristics. I was afraid that you would realise, you see, how I felt; that you would realise, and, realisng, you would exploit it. Love, as I may have said to you before, is power; and power invites abuse. I had already had my heart broken once, so badly that I wasn't even sure I was still capable of loving. I was afraid of it happening again.

And then, of course, there was the day of the accident, when I thought I was going to lose you. Every part of it was terrible, but the things that haunted me most were these; the knowledge that if I had done what I longed to do and taken you away from the Bath House, you would never have been on the road to Lazytown; and the fear that you would die without ever knowing how I felt about you.

Thank God you proved everyone wrong, and lived.

We've been lucky, David. We've had a good time together, a year and a half of blissful idyll - even if I did try to sabotage it with ridiculous fights about coat-hangers and toothbrushes and lining shoes up in pairs. Many lovers don't get even that much. Nonetheless, if you are reading this, my dear, I fear it may be coming to an end. I thank you, my love, for giving me the best, absolutely the best, year and a half of my entire life.

If they have caught me, David my darling, and if they are charging me right now with murder, in the first degree and with infinite malice aforethought, then I must tell you that this is goodbye. There is no parole for murder, as we both know, and so I will be jailed for the rest of my natural life; and I have no intention of letting you see me in a jail cell. Equally, I have no intention of living out forty or so years behind bars. The day I am convicted, David, I will turn my mind to finding the simplest, quietest and gentlest route to what is so frequently termed The Coward's Way Out, and you and I will never meet again; for even if there is a place after this one, I think the chances of you and I ending up at the same destination are somewhat limited. You have lived a good life, my dear; and I - well, I think we both know what is likely to await me on the other side. But don't worry, David; I concluded many years ago that God's judgement is merely a comforting lie we tell ourselves to give meaning to our lives, and therefore the mythical world of the afterlife holds no terrors for me.

So, my dear. No regrets, please, and no tears - or at least, no more than enough to wet your beautiful eyelashes, and make you look even more lovely and vulnerable than you do naturally. Live a happy life with someone else. Due to the draconian rules of the Town Charter, I regret that I am unable to leave you the lease on our house, but I am sure that Stephanie will be kind and bend the rules just for once, to allow you to remain here, if you wish. And of course, I can assure you that financially, you will be more than taken care of.

One more thing before I close; please, my darling, once you have read this, destroy it. Don't keep it as a sentimental souvenir. I know you won't ever give it to the police, but if they find it, you could be charged as an accessory after the fact, for withholding such unequivocal evidence of my guilt as a written, signed confession.

On re-reading this letter, I find that I have still not written down the words I swore I would write; the words I have woken up every morning promising to find the courage to say; the words that have hovered fearfully on the tip of my tongue every time we have made love; the words I have never said to any man in my life. So, David, let me, at last, tell you. I love you, I love you, I love you; it has been the privilege of my life to share this brief and wonderful time with you, and the biggest regret I will take to my grave is that the time could not have been longer.

Farewell, my dearest love,

Robbie


	18. Chapter 18 Harvest Moon

**Chapter Eighteen - Harvest Moon**

_They sat opposite each other over the desk and looked at each other unhappily._

"_We know he did it, McLaughlin," she said. "We damn well know it."_

_"And we know why. And now we know for sure he was right. Should make a difference, Caro."_

"_That's the jury's call," she reminded him. "You and I - we're just here to deliver the criminals to the system. What happens after that's up to them." _

"_I know. I _know_. But…"_

_She rested her chin her hands._

"_So what are we going to do?" she asked him. "Justice? Or the Law?"_

--

_(Twenty-four hours earlier)_

Dr Caroline St Vincent smiled at McLaughlin across her desk.

"So, McLaughlin. We meet again…"

"And this time you've got the advantage?"

She laughed.

"Always, honey. Older, thinner, wiser and armed with a scalpel wins every time. What have you got for me?"

"That guy who offed himself in the Metro Grand."

"James Thornton, you mean?"

"He was murdered."

She looked at him thoughtfully.

"Okay. What makes you think it was a murder?"

"_I just know_."

"You and your gut…have you got a name in mind?"

"I had a _suspect_. Had to let him go."

"That makes him innocent," she said dryly.

"Need your help, Caro. You've got more pull than me. You can talk to anyone, about anything. I'm only allowed to look at the scene. And besides - " He stopped suddenly.

"They told you to back off and let it go, didn't they?" she said, sighing. "I was going to sign this one off today. Jesus, McLaughlin, when will you _learn_ - "

"Y'know, you can call me by my first name if you want. Seven years of working together gets you that far."

She smiled at him, her soft brown eyes still radiant despite the pencilling of lines around them. He looked steadily back at her, grateful for his perfect poker face, that hid his longing.

"I like to imagine you don't have one."

He laughed heartily.

"Like Columbo?"

"Yes. Don't spoil my illusions. Okay. I can give this case until tomorrow afternoon, all right? But no more. And that's only because we're old friends. Come on, then. Show me the files. Who do you like for your murderer?"

--

Bessie sat in the Mayor's office and stared in exasperation at the piles and piles of paper. Ms Wescott stood beside her.

"How did it get in such a state so quickly?" asked Bessie at last.

"A lot of it's for Prickly Tree," said Ms Wescott. "I've been sorting it out by legal entity and then by project - that's why there are so many piles. The Lazytown folders are all at that end. New applications, financials, investment projects, Quarry Hill…"

"Well, I can assure you that's one project that _won__'__t_ be going ahead," said Bessie grimly.

Ms Wescott hesitated.

"Mrs Meanswell," she said tentatively. "I thought I should tell you that I'm probably going to be staying in Lazytown…"

"That's nice," said Bessie automatically.

"Yes - my boyfriend and I want to get a place together…so what I wanted to say is, I'm more than happy to stay on and help sort all of this mess out. If that would help, I mean."

Bessie looked at her gratefully.

"Really? Well, that would be wonderful. But - won't you be staying with Prickly Tree?"

"No-one's even sure who owns it," sighed Ms Wescott. "James was a complete control freak. He was all over every single one of the companies he owned - he was a madman about being kept informed. About half of these faxes and emails are from people screaming for instructions. No-one knows quite what to do now that he's gone…"

"Do you miss him?" The question came to her lips suddenly.

Ms Wescott shuddered.

"No. It's an awful thing to say, but I think the world might actually be a better place without him in it."

"And why would you say that?" asked a voice from the doorway.

The two women turned hastily around.

"Dr Caroline St Vincent." The woman held out her hand. "Chief Medical Examiner. I'm looking into the death of James Thornton. And this is - "

"Detective McLaughlin. Think we've met, haven't we, Mrs Meanswell? How you doing?"

Bessie was rather pale as she shook his hand.

"I'm fine, thank you, Detective," she said, trying not to let her voice tremble.

"I thought the medical examiner had already looked at - him," said Ms Wescott.

"Well, that was someone who works for me, who did the preliminary investigations," said Caroline calmly. "And that determined that the cause of death was blood loss, and that he had taken a relatively large dose of morphine before he died. However, there are still a few questions left."

"You think he was - murdered?" asked Bessie, her eyes wide.

McLaughlin looked at her curiously.

"_You _think he was murdered, Mrs Meanswell?"

"He was a terrible person," said Bessie into the tense silence. "We all knew it."

"Define _terrible_."

Bessie hesitated.

"Well, for one thing, he was…" she blushed deeply. The only phrase she knew for it was a word she didn't even like to say. "He liked to fool around with women." She knew she sounded ridiculously prim.

"Give me some names?"

"He…well…I think he was…rather interested in my niece, Stephanie."

"Stephanie? Stephanie Milford?" Caroline checked her notes. "She's the…the legal owner of the Lazytown corporation, is that right?"

"And _just that_ qualified as _terrible_?" Bessie blushed. "Come on, Mrs Meanswell, gimme what you got."

"Oh dear…well, he was very peculiar about his daughter."

"That's Molly, right? Say some more?" McLaughlin's face remained perfectly calm, but Caroline could feel him tense up as he stood beside her, as if he had caught the first faint scent of blood.

"He was very over-protective…he didn't like her being out of his sight. He used to follow her around sometimes, just to keep an eye on her. She never noticed, but I saw him…"

"Hmm. Anything else?"

Bessie thought she knew something else, too, something that filled her with a rage so deep she could hardly contain it, but that was not her secret to tell; it belonged to the poor, damaged, grieving little girl who had found temporary shelter with Stephanie and Sportacus.

"No," she said firmly. "Nothing else."

--

"They were holding something back," said Caroline as they walked across the square.

"I know."

"Do you know what it might be?"

"Nope."

"Why don't I believe you?"

"Women never believe me."

"Don't you hold out on me, McLaughlin," she warned.

"Wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I'm sure. So where are we going next?"

"See the girl he was fucking before he died."

She looked at him in surprise.

"That's unusually vulgar for you."

"Trust me, Caro…fucking's the _only _word for what he was doing."

--

"So what do you think?" asked Stingy, holding Trixie's hands tightly as they sat over the tiny table in the café. "I don't mean to nag, I'm sorry, I swear I'm not trying to pressure you, it's just this office has come up and Pixel's really desperate to know - "

"Yes," said Trixie, firmly.

"Yes? Yes to which?"

"Yes to all of it. I'd love us to have somewhere in Boston while I finish at Harvard. If you and Pixel want to run Six Thousand Ideas from Lazytown that's fine by me. _Of course_ I'll come and live with you here after I graduate, that would be _wonderful_. And…" she hesitated.

"Sorry to interrupt you both," said McLaughlin, not sounding in the least bit sorry. "Need to have a quick chat with you, Miss Bowman. If that's all right."

Stingy glared at him. McLaughlin smiled back affably.

"What's it about?" asked Trixie, already knowing the answer.

"The death of James Thornton," said the woman beside him. Trixie noticed mechanically that she was dressed in an immaculately tailored grey trouser-suit, and that the detective beside her was plainly and hopelessly in love with her.

"I wonder if you'd mind excusing us," the woman said apologetically to Stingy, but Trixie shook her head defiantly.

"No," she said, "it's fine. I'd prefer him to stay."

The woman raised her eyebrows.

"You're absolutely sure?" she asked delicately. "This young man is your fiancé, is that right? You - you do know what we want to discuss with you?"

Trixie nodded.

"Your funeral," said the detective affably, pulling up a chair. "So, Miss Bowman…how long were you and Thornton an item?" He saw the Hughes boy flinch, but there was no surprise in his eyes.

"A couple of months," said Trixie softly.

"Still going on when he died?"

"No."

"Whose decision?"

"Mine."

"Mind me asking why?"

Trixie's eyes were full of tears, but she faced him squarely.

"Because I was cheating on someone I love very much, and I knew it had to stop," she said clearly. "Is that a good enough reason for you, Detective?"

"All right, that's quite enough," said Caroline softly, but McLaughlin's eyes bored relentlessly into Trixie's face.

"Anything else? He make you do anything that upset you? Try and make you play any - games? Anything that made you uncomfortable?"

Stingy didn't move or speak, but Caroline could see that his fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white.

"He was, what? Twenty years older than you? Twenty-five? Think he got off on that thought? You being young enough to be his daughter? Miss Bowman?"

She looked him in the eye.

"Would _you _get off on that if _you _had sex with me, Detective?" He stared at her in shock. "Well, would you? I stopped it because it was _wrong_, okay? I've never been so ashamed of myself in my life, and I wish I could change what I did, and that's why I stopped seeing him. Isn't that a good enough reason for you?"

"Right, that's all you're asking her," said Stingy with decision.

"What?" McLaughlin looked at him in amusement, but Stingy was suddenly beside him, his hand on McLaughlin's elbow, propelling him out of the café. He considered resisting, then decided to make the most of the opportunity.

"He got rough with her, didn't he?" he asked as soon as they were outside. "Dainty little thing like that. Big strong man with no scruples, _loved_ to push people around…"

"Shut up," said Stingy despairingly. "I don't want to think about it, it makes me _sick_ to think about it - "

"Anything else? He ever ask her to role-play? Get her to call him…anything that creeped her out?"

Stingy stared at him in disbelief.

"What are you talking about? What the _hell's _the matter with you? Why are you asking _me_ all of this?"

McLaughlin stared at him searchingly, but saw that he wasn't going to get the answer he was looking for.

"Wanted to kill him, right?" he said at last.

"Yes," he muttered again, not caring that he was admitting it to a police detective. "You should have seen what he did to her, my _God _- "

"But you didn't, did you?"

Stingy laughed in disbelief.

"What kind of a question - ? No, of _course _I didn't, but aren't you supposed to give me a harder time than _that_?"

"Already know the answer. Wasn't you. You were off in Vegas with that showgirl, right? One way to even the score."

"I didn't - "

"Then you're a mug. A nice mug, mind you. But still a mug. You sure you can handle her? You don't want someone…lower maintenance?"

"Are you _sure_ you're a detective?" asked Stingy, completely bewildered now.

"Got the badge and everything," said McLaughlin, deadpan. "Good luck, pal."

--

"Well, you deserved that," said Caroline angrily. "What the hell's wrong with you? You _must _have checked their alibis. Tell me you did, right? Tell me _that_ wasn't your idea of interrogating a murder suspect?"

"Course I did. He was in Vegas. She was in Boston. A million witnesses for both of 'em."

"So what the _hell_ was the point of putting them both through that?"

"You're right," he said affably. "Waste of time. They didn't do it and they don't know anything. Shouldn't have done that to 'em. Losing my touch. Sorry."

"Well, there's no point apologising to _me,_" she said meaningfully. "Now I'll be honest, McLaughlin. I still don't see _anything _that says definitively this wasn't a suicide. And _certainly_ nothing that says James was murdered by a gay man in his forties, with no visible motive other than a couple of playground insults. But you liked Hughes for it, you must have done, or you wouldn't have checked him out…and by that reasoning, there's someone else who could be plausible, for exactly the same reason. Except that - except that - "

McLaughlin looked at her in amusement.

"Go on, then. Who is it? - Oh, you are _kidding _me, Caro. _Him_?" McLaughlin started to laugh.

"You know who I'm talking about?"

"Only one guy around here puts that look on people's faces. Yeah, I know who you're talking about. But I'm telling you, you're dead, dead wrong…"

--

"Are you all right?" Stingy asked, putting his arm around Trixie.

"I'm fine," she said, looking at him searchingly. "Are you?"

He laughed a little.

"Well, I'm not a suspect. Although it's kind of humiliating to be told by a detective that he doesn't think you've got the _cojones_ to kill the man who - " he shuddered. "Sorry, Trix, I _know _that's not funny, I just don't know how else to - " He sighed. "Oh, and he thinks you're high maintenance."

"Well, that's true," she said, trying to lighten the mood. "Do you - do you think he was murdered?"

"That's what you thought when you heard, wasn't it?" She hesitated. "God knows I wanted to…"

"Don't say that," she said violently. "I'm not worth it."

"I'd die for you," he told her, stroking her hair. "I would have killed him for you if I thought it would have done any good. But someone else got there first."

There were tears in her eyes.

"Do you still want to marry me?" she asked him suddenly.

"What? Of _course _I do, my God, it's what I've wanted since - "

"Then let's do it. Right now. Let's fly to Vegas and get married tonight."

"Are you serious? Don't you want a big white frock and a huge party and everyone around us?"

"Truly. I just want you. Nothing else. No-one else. Just you."

He looked at her speechlessly for a minute, then put his arms around her and held her very tightly. Then he took her hand in his and led her out of the café, before she could change her mind.

--

McLaughlin and Caroline found Sportacus playing baseball with a motley collection of children in the park. He gave them a friendly wave from across the field and ran over to meet them, back-flipping effortlessly over the wall.

"Sportacus," said McLaughlin. "Good to see you."

"Dr Caroline St Vincent," she said crisply, trying to conceal her astonishment. "Chief Medical Examiner. I'm investigating the death of James Thornton."

"What can I do to help?"

"I just need to ask you a few questions."

"Of course." She couldn't place his accent.

"He was quite…close…to your wife, is that right?" she asked him carefully.

"She's the legal owner of Lazytown. He was the Deputy Mayor. They had to work together."

"And how did you feel about that?"

He looked at her searchingly for a minute.

"Dr St Vincent," he said gently, "Maybe it would help if we are just completely honest with each other. I think what you actually want to ask me is, _Did I know he was interested in my wife? And did I kill him because of that?_ I understand why you might think I would do that, but the answer is no. I - I despised him personally, for a great many reasons, but I promise you that I didn't kill him out of jealousy."

"Good enough for me," said McLaughlin. "Come on. Let's go."

Caroline held her ground.

"With respect, that's a very easy thing to say."

He looked amused.

"For your people, possibly. Not for mine."

"What?" she looked at McLaughlin blankly.

"I'll explain later," said McLaughlin. "Take it from me, Caro. He says something, it's true. Kind of a…genetic thing. He didn't do it."

She shook her head stubbornly.

"James Thornton seems to have been…rather predatory…towards women. A lot of people noticed it. You knew he had his eye on your wife. You're the Town Hero, aren't you? You're supposed to protect everyone here? You sure you wouldn't have stretched a point and made it your _duty_ to kill him?"

"No, Ms St Vincent, I did not kill James Thornton, for that or for any other reason. Although I sometimes wonder what the point of all your laws and all your lawmen is, if they couldn't prevent a man like him from - " he stopped. "Forgive me, Detective McLaughlin. I don't mean to be rude."

McLaughlin waved a dismissive hand and turned to leave, but Caroline was reluctant to let it go. There was something nagging at her.

"So," she said, going on instinct. "What do you think happened to him? Was it suicide? Or murder?"

In the fractional pause that followed, McLaughlin turned slowly back towards them, looked closely at Sportacus, and then nodded at Caroline admiringly.

"Why are you asking me?" he after a second.

"You really can't lie?"

"Embarrassingly enough, Dr St Vincent, no; I really can't lie."

"So what do you think?"

He looked at her carefully.

"What makes you think he was murdered?"

"You really think he killed himself?"

"It's really not my area of expertise."

"Look me in the eye and tell me you honestly think it was suicide," she said slowly, "and I'll believe you."

His eyes met hers.

"I think he had done many things to be sorry for."

"That's not what I asked."

He sighed.

"The best answer I can give you, Dr St Vincent, is that this is your field, not mine. If you say he killed himself, then who am I to argue?"

"McLaughlin thinks Robbie Rotten might have had something to do with it."

Sportacus shrugged.

"Well, perhaps I am wrong about this, but I really don't think that _Robbie _had any reason to be jealous of James around his partner."

"How about his daughter?" asked McLaughlin abruptly.

Again there was a fractional pause.

"Excuse me?"

"Molly. How's she doing?"

"Forgive me, Detective, but she is fifteen years old and her father was found dead less than a week ago. How do you imagine she is doing?"

"Is there anything you want to tell me about her?" he asked. "Anything at all?"

Sportacus looked at him steadily.

"No, Detective," he said without emphasis. "There is absolutely nothing I want to tell you about Molly." His crystal began to bleep. "Excuse me. I have to go…"

--

"You're a genius," McLaughlin said as they walked back to the car. "He didn't do it, but he damn well knows something."

"Don't try and butter me up, you bastard," said Caroline warningly. "You know something you're not telling me. That's twice you've mentioned his daughter with that bloodhound look in your eye. What are you not telling me?"

McLaughlin said nothing.

"I'm warning you. I'm about ready to close this case and call it a suicide. You've got plenty of people pissed off at him, but no physical evidence, and your lead suspect's such a god-damn wild card that I can't _begin _to understand why you like him for it so much. What are you not telling me? Come on. Give."

McLaughlin said nothing.

"Fine. Suicide it is." She climbed into the car and slammed the door shut.

"Don't be mad," he said, climbing into the driver's side and starting the engine.

"Then don't be such a complete asshole."

"You were onto something then. You could feel it. So could I. He knows something he's not sharing."

"You said he couldn't lie." For a moment she forgot her fury. "What the hell _is _that all about, anyway?"

"It's just part of who he is. Look, he can't lie, but he ain't stupid. He was holding something back. He _knows, _I'm telling you, Rotten must have told him what he - " He stopped. "_Fuck._"

"Tell me right now what you think he knows, McLaughlin, or I swear I'm going to open this car door, walk back to Metropolis and bill you for a new pair of shoes."

"I've got childproof locks."

"Oh, you _infuriating _man! You never share anything, you never trust anyone - you're like the Cat That Walked By Himself…_this _is why I never accept your _bloody_ dinner invitations - "

That made him flinch, and with sudden decision he pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"I'll tell you," he said intensely, "but you gotta keep it to yourself."

She glared at him.

"And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because if you tell anyone, you could get me fuckin' fired. _Please_, Caro. Promise me you'll keep it quiet."

She looked at him curiously.

"What on _earth _have you done this time?"

He hesitated, then opened the glove box and took out a brown manila folder.

"Molly Thornton's medical notes," he said. "Stole them from a therapist's office."

She looked at him in shock.

"How the hell - what were you_ thinking_ - "

"Just following a hunch."

"Except this one really could get you - my _God_, McLaughlin, the confidential medical records of an innocent minor, _and _the daughter of a man rich enough to sue the entire goddamn district if he wanted to - "

"Good thing he's dead, then," said McLaughlin with a grin.

"Oh, shut up, you fool. Why did you do it, anyway?"

"Read the last page."

She flicked curiously through it, and then her face went very still.

"Oh, my God," she said softly.

"Yeah."

"You think it's true?"

"Explain a lot, wouldn't it?"

"It still doesn't explain why you think it's this Robbie guy," she pointed out. "Just because her therapist suspected abuse doesn't mean anyone else - "

"Except I think he _was_ her therapist."

"What on _earth _are you talking about?"

"Long story. But trust me, it could have been."

"Have you got any proof?"

"No…I was gonna get this file run for fingerprints, but I never got a chance - had to let him go before I could do it. But that don't matter…only wanted it so I'd know why, anyway. Thought I'd get enough off a house search to be sure. Never got to look, unfortunately."

"And you think he told Sportacus? And Sportacus wouldn't come to _you_?"

"Hell, I've lived here for five years. Can't tell you how much I admire him. Guy's just…amazing beyond belief. But…if he thought James had done this…that's something he wouldn't forgive. He didn't do it, I know that much. But - if Robbie did…Sportacus won't give him up. Not unless we force him."

"Then let's force him."

"You think that's the right thing to do?"

"Absolutely. Let's go."

--

Stingy stood by the door, tapping his car-keys impatiently against the door-frame, as Trixie rummaged frantically through his wardrobe.

"What are you looking for?" he called.

"My wedding dress."

"Your _what_? Trix, I'll take you shopping, I'll buy you whatever you want, let's just _go_, okay?"

"Worried I'm going to change my mind, Mr Millionaire?" she asked mockingly.

"Actually, yes."

"Don't be…_ah_! Got it." She appeared in the door of his room with a foaming bundle of deep red silk in her arms and looked at him shyly over the top of it. "It's the dress you bought me that time we went to New York…I want to get married in it."

He smiled.

"You mean that time we went to New York and I asked you to marry me and you turned me down cold?"

"That's the one. I thought it was time to get the jinx off it."

"Oh, Trix…" he kissed her, deeply and urgently.

"We'll miss our flight," she said warningly.

"We've got ten minutes." He slid her t-shirt off over her head and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"So why were you making such a fuss?"

"I wanted to do this first."

"You think ten minutes is enough?"

"You'll see…"

The key sounded in the lock and they jumped apart. Pixel stood in the doorway.

"Oh," he said blankly. "Damn. I'm sorry. I - we - you said in your message you'd be away, so...er…this is…this is Sophie." He gestured to the girl standing beside him.

"But I know you," said Stingy in shock. "You're Ms Wescott, you used to work for…you look really different with your hair down…"

"And you look really different with your shirt off and your belt unfastened," said Sophie Wescott faintly.

"Oh, _God_, sorry…"

Trixie put her t shirt back on and looked at Sophie in amusement.

"Well, this is awkward, isn't it?" she said, laughing. "Shall we just agree we never met like this and do it all again properly later?"

"That sounds like a great idea," said Sophie with feeling. "Are you - are you going anywhere nice?"

"We're going to Vegas to get married," said Trixie cheerfully. "Behave yourself, Pixel." She took Stingy's hand and ran down the stairs, clutching her red silk Valentino dress closely to her heart.

--

"No brat in tow this afternoon, Barbie?" asked Robbie, peering round the kitchen door.

"She's visiting Uncle Milford."

"But not the dragon lady? Yes, I thought I saw her throwing papers around the Mayor's office…so I have you to myself?" He sidled into the kitchen and grinned at her from underneath his eyebrows. "This may be your last chance to try and turn me straight before they lock me away for ever, so use it wisely."

"Don't joke about it," said Stephanie warningly.

"Why ever not? Haven't you ever whistled past the graveyard? Or wondered if you actually could?" He sat down at the table and smiled at her. "Any chance of you making me some coffee, angel? Or does your Above Average Husband not allow the stuff in the house?"

She rummaged in a cupboard and found a jar of instant granules.

"Is everything all right?" she asked him.

"A guilty conscience keeping me awake, you mean? Barbie darling, I just don't want to get caught. And, in the interests of preserving my own extremely selfish hide, I thought I'd warn you that I'm not exactly off the hook yet. I think we both know that creative thinking in a tight spot's not your strongest suit, so I thought you might like a little _warning_ before…"

"Can I help you with something, Robbie?" asked Sportacus from the doorway.

Robbie raised an eyebrow.

"You _still _don't like me anywhere near her, do you?" he asked. "No, don't feel bad about it. It's rather flattering that you imagine she'd trade you for me…actually, I came to warn you that - "

"That Detective McLaughlin and Dr St Vincent are asking questions about James Thornton's…suicide," said Sportacus, closing the door.

"Suicide?"

"So far."

"Oh, come on, let's be honest, shall we? We both know what I did while you were out cold - "

"Robbie, please! Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"Don't tell me these things! I want to help you, but we both know there is a limit to what I can do! Are you _trying _to get thrown in jail? You do know, don't you, that they are within a heartbeat of finding out?"

"Finding out what? That I - "

"_Shut up!_" shouted Stephanie. "Stop talking about it, _please! _Molly's right upstairs! What's the _matter _with you both?"

There was a knock at the door.

"Oh, God," said Stephanie.

"No point asking Him," said Robbie, stretching. "Ah well. Here we go. If it all goes wrong, it was nice knowing you both; I'll write to you from my cell in between tattooing my knuckles and getting raped in the showers…"

Stephanie opened the door.

"Well," said McLaughlin, smiling. "This is cosy."

Stephanie held the door open politely.

"Would you both like some coffee?" she asked.

"No. Thanks. Molly Thornton around?"

"She's asleep," said Stephanie.

"At two in the afternoon? You think that's healthy?"

"You're not waking her," said Stephanie firmly. McLaughlin saw the mama-bear glint in her eye, and decided to back off.

"Fancy seeing you here," he said to Robbie. Robbie smiled.

"Just visiting."

"Convenient for me," he said. "Need to talk to you all, actually. Nice to find you all here like this."

"Detective," said Caroline warningly.

"Oh, right, sorry. You know what? I'm just gonna come out with it. Robbie, did you kill James Thornton?"

"Oh, not this again," said Robbie, sighing. "No, I didn't. Happy?"

"Fair enough. Sportacus…did he kill James Thornton?"

In the silence, a blackbird sang in the tree outside the kitchen window.

"I -" said Sportacus, and then stopped, and closed his eyes in despair.

"Gotcha," said McLaughlin, laconically.

--

"_You made your choice when you asked me to help you," Caroline reminded him. "You said you knew, you just wanted to prove it."_

_"Nope."_

"_What?"_

_"Wasn't what I wanted. I wanted to know _why_. Wanted to know if he got it right."_

"_What difference does that make?"_

--

Stephanie was the first to move. She stood behind Robbie and put her hands protectively on his shoulders. Robbie chuckled.

"Bless you, silly girl, but I don't think that's going to help." He picked up one hand and kissed the palm. "Forgive me if I fool around with your wife just a little," he added, looking at Sportacus mockingly, "but it may be a while before I get the chance again…"

"Why d'you do it?" asked McLaughlin.

"He was annoying," said Robbie, shrugging.

"This is not the time to be flippant," warned Caroline. "Did I hear that right? You just _admitted _to a murder? What's _wrong_ with you people?"

"All criminals like to boast about their crimes. This is getting boring. If I'm going down, I want it over with. Come on, McLaughlin. Get the cuffs out and put me away."

McLaughlin hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?" He held his wrists out. "Tie me up as tight as you please…or are you, by any chance, wondering whether I might have done the right thing?"

"_Tell me why you did it,_" McLaughlin hissed beneath gritted teeth.

"Why? Does it make a difference?"

"That's for a court to decide," said Caroline. "McLaughlin, you've got what you came for. Arrest him and let's go."

Sportacus stepped protectively in front of Robbie.

"You gonna make me take you on?" asked McLaughlin wearily. "Please, don't do this…"

"I have to. This is _not justice_."

"I don't _do _justice. I'm just the law! I've _always_ let you do your job. Let me do mine."

"Obstructing a police officer is a serious offence," pointed out Caroline.

"Caro, _please…_I'll deal with this." McLaughlin faced up to Sportacus. "We both know I can't get through you. You don't move, I'm gonna have to try anyway. I want to retire in one piece. Help me out here. Please."

"I can't let you arrest him," said Sportacus desperately. "James Thornton deserved to die for what he did to - "

"What's going on?"

"Molly!" Stephanie was across the kitchen in three strides. Molly looked around the kitchen in bewilderment, pushing a strand of lank, dirty hair away from her face, swollen and streaked with tears. "It's fine, honey. Don't worry."

"What's going on?" Molly repeated, staring around, trying to work out the dynamic in the room. The strange woman in the beautiful suit; the crumpled man facing up to Sportacus, who was standing protectively in front of Robbie; Robbie lounging on the chair, his long legs stretched out beneath the table. "What did you mean about arresting Robbie?"

"We think Mr Rotten might have had something to do with your father's death," said Caroline, as gently as possible.

Molly looked at her blankly for a moment, then she stared around the kitchen. She looked at Stephanie, at Sportacus, and finally at Robbie, who held her gaze steadily.

"My father killed himself," she said at last.

"Molly, I know that may be what you were told at first, but we now have _very _good reason to believe that - "

"My father," she repeated, with a wobble in her voice, "killed himself. Do you hear me? He killed himself. Because he couldn't _live _with what he did to me."

"My dear - " said Caroline. McLaughlin took her hand and squeezed it hard, and she stopped.

"When I was thirteen years old," she said, "he raped me. He - kept doing it - he kept promising he'd stop - and then he made us move here - so _he_ - " she pointed at Sportacus - "he'd be able to - to keep me safe…" She had begun to cry. Her nose was running, and she wiped it roughly on her sleeve. "And then - in that hotel room - the one you found him in - " She took a deep breath. "He killed himself because it was the _only way_ he could make it stop, do you understand? He _did _love me. He did. And that was the last thing he could do for me. _He killed himself to keep me safe_. And that's what happened. So fuck you to hell and back, both of you, whoever the _fuck _you are, because you're _not _taking that away from me."

She turned on her heel and ran out of the room. They heard her footsteps on the stairs and in the room above them. They stared at each other in silence.

"May Jesus Christ and all the angels help me," said McLaughlin at last, and ran his hands through his hair.

"Detective McLaughlin," said Sportacus. McLaughlin looked at him. "Molly has lost almost everything she has to lose. Don't take this away from her too."

--

"_The Law's all I've got, Caro," he said. "Got nearly thirty years service. Don't know any other life."_

_She put her hand gently over his._

"_Then you know what you have to do. Arrest Rotten and let it go to trial."_

_"Caro, please. I need your help."_

_She looked at him in puzzlement._

"_What do you want me to do?"_

_He sighed._

"_I had to be sure. Had to know if he was right about Thornton. Couldn't let him off the hook if he just did him for spite, or badness, or any other fuckin' reason…or if he just got it wrong. Caro, I couldn't find out without you. Now I can't fix this without you. Help me do the right thing…"_

_"The correct thing? Or the just thing?"_

_"You're signing the death certificate."_

_"You want me to make the decision for you?"_

_"My job's just to find out. What happens afterwards - that's always been for other people."_

"_We're the Law, McLaughlin."_

_"Yeah. But…we're also human beings…aren't we?"_

_She looked at him and shook her head. Then she opened the file on her computer, and briskly typed a single word into the box marked "cause of death"._

--

"This one's for you," said David, passing a long, thin white envelope over the table. Robbie opened it. Inside was a folded piece of paper, and a compliments slip from the department of the Chief Medical Examiner.

_I'm watching you, Rotten_, read the note.  
_You step out of line, I'm coming for you.  
__But I guess even a stopped clock's right twice a day.  
__- McLaughlin._

He unfolded the folded piece of paper. It was a copy of James Thornton's death certificate. Cause of death was listed as SUICIDE.

Robbie had it mounted in a neat little black frame, and hung it on the wall of the en-suite bathroom.


	19. Epilogue How to Save a Life

**Epilogue - How To Save A Life**

_The following summer_

Molly opened the door before David could knock. She was dressed in a tracksuit and trainers, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail.

"Did you eat breakfast?" he asked her.

She rolled her eyes.

"Stop fussing."

"Did you?"

"_Yes_. Cereal and toast. Bessie stood over me while I ate it. Even though she's in a complete flap about what to wear to the Mayoral inauguration."

"Are you sure you don't want to go?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes comically.

"Do I want to go and stand around in that office and watch everyone get all choked up over f- I mean, over nothing?"

"It's not nothing," protested David. "It's a really big deal…" his voice trailed away as he looked at Molly, and remembered who had been in that office the last time the ceremony had taken place. "Oh. Sorry."

She shrugged.

"Let's go," she said, closing the door behind her.

--

Stephanie cracked the eggs on the side of the bowl and whisked them briskly, trying not to let her disgust show. They looked so _raw_, she thought, so slimy and runny and sloppy and…she shuddered a little, swallowed hard, and turned hastily away so that he wouldn't notice. _Next week_, she thought to herself, _next week when I'm absolutely sure, I'll tell him…_In the corner, Emma sat happily with her box of bricks, stacking them up and knocking them down again, muttering softly to herself as she did so.

"Why don't you let me do that while you juice the oranges?" Sportacus asked, taking the bowl firmly away from her. She smiled at him and turned with relief to the oranges, slicing them open and licking the juice off her fingers, relishing the sharp, fresh taste - although he suspected that what she really wanted was a lemon. As he watched her, he remembered with a mixture of amusement and pain that she had been exactly the same the last time; sick to her stomach but stubbornly trying to hide it from him; convinced, as women everywhere seemed to be, that men were incapable of counting to twenty-eight or watching the phases of the moon, or indeed of noticing anything at all, ever…

"Oh, by the way," he said as he whisked the eggs. "I…bought you a present. Just something I thought you might like." He gestured to a small cardboard box hidden behind the milk-jug, tied with a ribbon. She opened it in perplexity, then began to laugh helplessly. Lying in the box, with another ribbon tied neatly around it, was a lemon.

"Do you like it?" he asked, putting her arms around her.

"How did you know?" she asked him.

"Hmm. Maybe because you are my wife, and I love you?" He stroked her hair. "And because you couldn't stand the sight of raw eggs last time, either."

She shuddered.

"Don't even talk about them, please."

"All right, I'm sorry, I promise I won't talk about them. Sweetheart…" he kissed her warmly. "You have to be _careful _this time, all right? You have to let me look after you…both of you…it was so hard on you with Emma, I don't want that to happen again…"

"When's my baby brother coming?" asked Emma clearly, looking up from her bricks.

They stared at Emma in disbelief.

"Did you tell her?" Stephanie asked at last.

"No, of course not."

"Then - then how does she _know_?"

--

"So which way do you want to go?" asked David.

"How about around the town and through the fields until we hit the monorail, then back again?"

"That's a long one."

"About five miles. Not too bad."

He looked at her warningly.

"Well…as long as you don't sneak out again afterwards and do it all again after I've gone home."

She made a face.

"Or spend six hours in the shower trying to wash the dirt off, and then throw up my dinner in the sink?" It was the kind of joke she could only make to David, knowing that he had seen her at her worst and understood it completely.

--

"Aren't you going to get ready for the ceremony?" asked Stingy, putting his head around the door of Pixel's lab.

"Which ceremony?" asked Pixel absent-mindedly, running his fingers through his hair and leaving thick green streaks wherever they touched.

"The _Mayoral inauguration_, you fool."

"Oh. Do I have to?"

"Yes, you damn well do! It's a real privilege to be invited, it's normally family members only…" Pixel shrugged, took off his lab coat and stood expectantly by the door. "Oh, come on, Pixel, _do _make an effort. Put a jacket on at least."

"I haven't got one, have I?"

"Oh, yes, you have," said Sophie, putting her head around the door. "Come on. We're going home so you can get changed."

"I hate it when you gang up on me," grumbled Pixel.

"That's what you get for working with your girlfriend," said Sophie, smiling. "Where's Trixie?"

"Oh, she's supposed to be meeting us here, but she's right in the middle of a chapter so she'll be off in her own world," said Stingy. "I'll go and collect her."

"You're so bossy," Pixel complained. "You just don't understand the creative mind. No wonder you two still argue all the time."

Stingy glared and kicked him very hard on the ankle.

"Your hair's turning green, by the way," he said on his way out.

"_Really?_" Pixel glanced vaguely around the lab, found a flat sheet of metal, and looked at his reflection in astonishment. "Cool…Sophie, come and look at this - I'm going green instead of grey!"

--

For the first two months after her father's funeral, lost in the horrors she had endured, Molly had barely eaten, despite Stephanie's endless coaxing. Finally there had been the journey to the hospital, a white bed in a bright ward, a drip in her arm and a tube down her nose. She had lain there in silence, her eyes closed tightly, feeling the time pass slowly and monotonously, waiting for death to claim her.

"Molly?" she recognised the voice of her therapist, but stubbornly refused to open her eyes. "Molly. I know you can hear me."

"Go away," she whispered. "I've got nothing to say to you."

"I'll leave in a minute if you prefer, Molly, but first of all there's something I want you to think about. They're not going to let you die, you know."

"Who the hell are any of you people to tell me what I have to do?" she asked wearily. "I've had enough."

"You feel angry, don't you? You feel as though this is the last choice left you have to make, and even that's being taken away from you?"

"D'you know? You really should be a therapist," said Molly sarcastically, and he laughed.

"So there's still some fight in you. Good girl. Now, you listen to me. As I said - they're not going to let you die. But whether or not you actually start living again - that's entirely up to you."

"Go away," she repeated, and heard the door close as he left. But after he had gone, the thought resonated curiously in her mind.

_It's up to you. It's up to you. It's up to you._ She had grown used to feeling that she had no control over anything in her life; she had lived with it so long that she hardly even noticed it any more. Now, in this clean white hospital bed, she had to make the biggest decision she had ever been offered.

After what could have been hours, days, or possibly only minutes, she opened her eyes and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.

_Do I want to? _she wondered. _Do I want to give it another shot after all, that whole living thing?_

--

"Trix," said Stingy, smiling as he looked at his beautiful, beautiful wife, sitting with her feet tucked up underneath her, staring at her laptop.

"Just a minute," she said absently, without looking up from the screen.

"Come on, genius. Devotion to your art is a wonderful thing, but it's time to take a break. The Mayoral inauguration is this morning, remember?"

"Oh, hell, so it is…what time is it?"

You've got ten minutes to get ready." He looked at her pale face and red-rimmed eyes. "And you are a _wreck_. You work too hard. What time did you come to bed last night, anyway?"

She glanced in the mirror and winced.

"Harsh, but true." She rummaged through her desk drawer for some eye drops. "Thank God for modern cosmetics…"

"So which is it this morning? Soft porn or self-help?"

"_The Higher Common Sense_," she said absently, failing to take the bait.

"Self-help," he repeated teasingly, trying to get a rise out of her. "Taking a break from the soft porn, are we?"

"Trashy novels are not soft porn," said Trixie crossly. "When I start writing erotic fiction, trust me, you'll know about it. And accessible philosophical treatises are _not_ self-help and you know it. What?"

He smiled, trying to hide his pride in her.

"You'd get better reviews if you picked just one genre and stuck to it."

"My reviews are fine, thank you so very much." She bundled her hair into a pile on the back of her head, pinned it hastily into place, then smiled at him impishly. "Do I laugh at what you do for a living?"

"_Do you laugh at what I do for a living?_" he repeated in outrage. "Christ, Trix, you've been laughing at what I do for a living since we were six years old!"

"Have I? Yes, I suppose I have, but that's because you need bringing down a peg or two, or you'd be completely insufferable. At least what I do is intellectual."

"Impossibly beautiful heroine agonises over whether to marry the penniless artist, the charming commitment-phobe or the dull millionaire? Oh, you're so _right_. The pinnacle of modern thinking. You, Jackie Collins and Grace Metalious…"

"That's just for fun, and you know it. _This_ - " she gestured to her laptop - "this is serious writing. I worked damn hard for my degree, I'm not going to waste it."

"You didn't work hard at all. You got _me _to finish your thesis - "

"To my instructions - "

"Nonetheless, Trix, it was hardly all your own work, was it?"

"Oh, shut up, Mr Millionaire, or I'll make you write a chapter of _Lovers and Losers_." She tucked her arm through his. "Let's go."

--

Molly's friendship with David had begun the day after she was released from the hospital, half a stone heavier and shakily determined. The court had finally agreed, in the absence of any living relatives, to appoint the Meanswells as Molly's legal guardians. David, awkward and shy, giving in to Robbie's endless nagging, had called around and been shown in by a slightly bemused Milford to the room that had once been Stephanie's.

Molly was sitting on the floor by her bedroom window, plugged into her iPod, wrapped in a dressing-gown. She had eaten two bites of the sandwich that Bessie had made her, but no more. David came and sat companionably on the floor beside her.

"Hey," she said tonelessly, trying to smile.

"Look, Molly," he said suddenly, without any introduction, "There's something you should know…you're not as alone here in Lazytown as you think you are."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…" he sighed. "Okay. Robbie and I - before we were together…this is nothing like as bad as what happened to you, I'm not saying it is, but - I used to - I used to be a - " his face was scarlet.

"You mean it's _true_? About how you met?" She looked at him with wide eyes.

"You heard about - ?"

"I heard you used to work in a - "

"Yes," he said hastily. "I - I just wanted you to know, Molly. So you know that there's someone else here who knows what it's like to - to have no choice…and to be completely ashamed about it."

"I _do_ feel ashamed," she whispered. "I know I shouldn't, I know it was _him_, but I do…like there must have been something wrong with me, you know? Something in me that he saw…"

"I know it's harder for you because he was your dad and you loved him," said David gently. "I know I can't imagine what that was like." He saw her shudder. "But…look, Molly, if you just want to hang out with someone who you can be totally relaxed with - I promise I won't expect you to talk about it or anything." He smiled. "God knows, living with Robbie I've got used to people who never talk about their emotions. So…" he shrugged.

She wiped the tears from her eyes, took his hand, and squeezed it tightly.

--

He sighed, and sat her on his knee, and told her what he had suspected for many months now, while Emma continued to play happily and obliviously with her bricks. Stephanie listened carefully.

"Really? Second sight?" She looked at her daughter and felt her heart contract with love and anxiety.

"She's still very young, so it's hard to be sure, but yes. I think so."

"Is it because - I mean, is that how you - " she looked at his crystal questioningly.

"No, not really, that's…something quite different. I'm so sorry, sweetheart, I can't talk about how _that_ works, even to you. But what Emma can do…that's something else, something very rare. Foresight is part of it, of course, but there are other things, too, that will come as she gets older. And all of that is something that…where I'm from…they would put a tremendous value on."

Her eyes widened.

"Would she be safe?"

"She would be…treasured…honoured…almost worshipped." He tried to smile, but she could see the sadness in his eyes. "I haven't told them, Stephanie, and I don't intend to."

"And how about here?"

"Here she will simply be your daughter and mine, and she'll grow up happily. Trust me, Stephanie. She has much more chance of being happy here, in your home." He kissed her. "Or I suppose I should say our home."

--

After the despair and the starvation and the time in the hospital came a totally unexpected period of pure rage. For weeks and weeks, she had been so angry that she could hardly speak to anyone without shouting, swearing and storming out of the room. Stephanie and Sportacus had been calm and patient; Bessie and Milford had been shocked to the core, but determinedly accepting; Robbie had laughed heartily and called round at least once a day - to enjoy the show, he claimed; almost everyone else had avoided her. David had come to see her one afternoon, asked her how she was, and found himself on the receiving end of a ten-minute wall-to-wall rant where every other word was "fuck".

"Put your running shoes on," he told her, when she finally ran out of breath.

"What the fuck are you fucking talking about, you bastard, you fucking queer, you've got no fucking idea how I - "

"Try and catch me," he said, laughing. "Bet you can't. Come on, Molly, you're getting slow and out of shape…"

And his teasing had enraged her so much that she had done as he asked, determined to get hold of him and scratch his eyes out, and they had run for a mile and a half across town until her legs gave way underneath her and he had carried her to a bench.

"Feel better now?" he asked her shyly, and she nodded, astonished to find that she did. "Right. Now I've got to get you back for your therapy appointment."

"Fuck off, I'm not fucking going," she said, more or less on a reflex, but the fury had gone out of her for the time being. The session that afternoon exhausted her, and she fell asleep before dinner and slept until late the next morning.

Then there had been the long, long days of near-silence that followed, before she finally began to claw her way back into the light.

--

Just as they were about to leave for the Town Hall, Sportacus's crystal suddenly blazed into life.

"I'll tell them you're going to be late," said Stephanie, laughing, and he laughed back at her as he swarmed up the ladder to the air-ship.

In the park, he found six of the children, wailing and struggling, cocooned in swathes of sticky, spun-sugar ropes, and stuck to a giant spider-web strung between two trees.

"We only wanted to eat a bit of it," said Gabe pitifully, as Sportacus helped him down. "Is the spider going to catch us, Sportacus? Is he going to eat us?"

"Of course not," said Sportacus reassuringly. "Okay, this is going to be wet, guys, sorry…hose-pipe!" He caught the bright yellow coils as they fell from the sky, and drenched the cocooned children and the web with water. The sugar dissolved and melted away, and the children were free and dripping wet in the sunshine.

"The spider! The spider!" screamed Laura suddenly. Her face was white and pinched with fear.

Sportacus turned and reeled in shock at the huge, nightmare, alien face with vast shiny eyes and long white fangs staring into his own, mere inches away. The spider was easily the size of a man; its eight hairy legs dangled around a fat, furry body. As he stared and swallowed hard, it hissed menacingly and swayed forward on its rope, mandibles clacking. Fluid dripped from its jaws. The sight was so unexpected, so ghastly, that he actually took a few steps backwards as he knotted the hosepipe into a rough lassoo shape and caught the spider around all eight of its legs. It fell to the ground, writhing helplessly. Then the monstrous rubber head dislodged and Robbie struggled crossly free of the hosepipe, muttering.

"_Robbie_," said Sportacus, exasperated and relieved. Robbie grinned.

"Had you for a minute there, didn't I?"

"I - oh, all right, actually yes, you did. That was _completely horrible_. What on _earth_ is wrong with you at the moment? I thought you'd given all of this up, you stopped for weeks and weeks, and now out of the blue there are all these ghastly creatures…"

"I didn't want your life getting boring."

"Well, if you absolutely _must_ do this, could you possibly choose something that isn't going to give the little ones nightmares for the next six months?"

"I'll think about it, but I wouldn't hold your breath. Trust me, I'm just getting started." He looked at his watch. "Aren't you late for the ceremony?"

Sportacus smiled.

"Yes, I am. I wonder why?"

"Bet you'll enjoy this one more than the last, hey?"

--

"You're…getting…faster," panted David, trying to keep up with the pace Molly was setting. Molly grinned at him as they ran past the Mayor's office, where they could see a small crowd of people filing in.

"What's…happening?" she asked breathlessly, pointing.

"Mayoral…mayoral inauguration," gasped David.

"Oh, yeah…"

They ran on, working harder now, running in unison, enjoying the feeling of the sun on their faces and the light breeze blowing across their skin.

--

"Sorry I'm late," Sportacus said, smiling apologetically.

"What happened?" asked Trixie curiously.

"Oh, the kids were in trouble, you know how it is…"

"_Plus __ç__a change._" She laughed.

He looked around the room at the group of people he had come to think of as his family, remembering.

He had first made this vow to the man who now stood at his side, now looking rather thinner and considerably older. Shortly after swearing himself to the protection of Lazytown, he had met the pink-haired little girl who had grown up to be his wife. All of the children he had known then had turned out to be every bit as amazing as he had thought they would; maybe one day he would be pledging his loyalty to one of them...but for now, until they had all grown to their full strength and potential and were ready to take over the running of their world…

"Are you ready?" he asked, smiling, and the new Mayor stepped forward, awkward, nervous, a little shy. "Now…" he smiled reassuringly, took off his hat, knelt down and bowed his head.

"What's Daddy doing?" wondered Emma very loudly. Stephanie shushed her.

"Elizabeth Mary Meanswell," said Sportacus, his head bowed. "As you have now been appointed Mayor of Lazytown, I offer you my service, my fidelity and my sworn loyalty, for as long as your appointment lasts or until my death. I formally declare that I am empowered to make this contract with you on behalf of the _Huldufolk_, under the original terms agreed with Liefur Johannson. Do you accept?"

"I accept," said Bessie, smiling and blushing and proud.

In the months since James's death she had worked tirelessly to keep the town running. Beside her, Stingy - who had steadfastly turned down various frantic offers, at increasing levels of seniority, from Prickly Tree and its affiliates - wrestled to pull its finances back under control. (Bessie had never got to the bottom of the sudden appearance of twenty-eight million dollars from what Stingy blithely described as "a rainy-day fund", just at the moment where it had looked as if the damage done by James's tinkering would take the whole town under.) Initially, she had hoped that Milford would one day be able to return to his old role. As time had gone on and Milford had settled into a life of visiting Emma and Stephanie, helping out in the office and gently pottering, she had gradually become absorbed in the job. She found it fascinating and challenging to be making the decisions instead of simply filing the paperwork. Then one morning she awoke and realised in shock that she had really, truly not even thought about alcohol for months. That day, Sportacus had come to visit her and suggest that she become the Mayor.

"Who'd have thought it?" Bessie said wryly as Sportacus shook her hand.

"Who indeed?" said Sportacus, smiling warmly. "I'm honoured to be working for you, Bessie Meanswell."

--

And, in the fields on the outskirts of town, Molly Thornton was running, hard and fast and unafraid. David was lagging behind her now, his breathing heavy and ragged, laughing and calling for her to slow down. Molly laughed and waved to him, but kept going, pushing herself, deep in the runner's high now, carried along by the wave of endorphins. Her feet moved rapidly through the short, lush grass. With her head up and her eyes alight, her hair coming loose from its ponytail and flowing behind her, Molly ran on and on through the fields, moving faster now, running towards the warmth and the light and the bright, unknown future.


	20. Author's Note

**"How long till the rain starts coming down…"**

I have never been so nervous about any piece of writing in my life as I have been about _After the Rain_. "What the fuck would you want to write about someone like that for?" was the tartly phrased but excellent question put to me by a very good friend, when I told her how the story would turn out. And although I haven't yet been flamed (although I guess there's still time) for having the gall to tackle such a sensitive subject in a fanfic, I thought I ought to explain myself a little.

So, why James Thornton? He originally came about because I was looking for a villain who would genuinely challenge the Lazytown ethos. Instead of Robbie - who I become more deeply attached to with every scene I write for him - I wanted to introduce someone who genuinely was the polar opposite of Sportacus. Venal. Unscrupulous. Dishonest. Worldly. Untrustworthy. Violent. Selfish. Corrupt. Sexually predatory…

Then, I needed a reason for him to be in Lazytown. I wondered what a man like James would think if he discovered that there was a place where a superhero kept watch over all the children in the town. I wondered how he might exploit it, and why he might want to hide there at all. What, I wondered, would a man like that be running from?

Then, of all things, I had a huge row with an advertising agency about whether "Little Red Riding Hood" was a suitable subject for an advertisement. _It's a fairy story,_ they said, bewildered. _It's a fairy story about paedophilia,_ I retorted. _Fairy stories are the way society talks to children about its most terrible secrets. I don't think we should be using it to sell painkillers._ I have to say that I didn't win the argument, but at some point before I realised that everyone in the room was looking at me funny and hoping I'd stop talking soon, _After the Rain_ fell into place in my head, and I suddenly had one of the darkest storylines I've ever tackled.

But mainly, I wanted to write this story because the brutal truth is that every day, in every part of our society, children suffer terribly at the hands of adults who are supposed to protect them. Often, people around them know or suspect what is happening, and are desperately worried about them; but still it happens. The event that finally prompted me to get started was the news that the UN is currently conducting an investigation into the suspected abuse of war orphans, committed by UN peacekeeping troops, in refugee camps in Angola. It was alleged that young girls were being forced to sell themselves to the soldiers in return for food.

If all this makes you angry, then good. It makes me angry too. And while writing about the subject for an online fan-fiction forum might not seem like the most rational response, I firmly believe that the more the subject is discussed - the more people there are who feel passionately that it's wrong and that it can be changed - the more chance there is that it _will _change. If you're reading this from the UK and want to make a difference, you can do what I did and make a donation to the NSPCC Full Stop campaign via their website. If you're from outside the UK, then I know you will have similar charities in your country who do the same life-saving work.

And as for the murder…or, depending on your point of view, the righteous execution…tragically, despite the commitment and dedication of the many, many people who work in child protection, the fact is that many abusers get away with it, and many victims find the legal process almost as brutal as the crime they originally suffered. I wanted to write an ending where, just for once, the abuser gets what he had coming to him.

As always, a huge thank you to my regular reviewers - MASC, Melissa, Blue, you make it all worth while. Melissa - I _owe_ you, girl, for all your support, but especially for all the hand-holding through many evenings of me whining via MSN Messenger about how I Can't Crack Chapter Ten And It's Driving Me Mad. And MASC - thank you for laughing in all the right places, for forgiving me over Trixie's dalliance, and for rooting so convincingly for Robbie to get away with it.

I also think it's time I thanked my lovely Beta reader. Even though you're too shy to leave me a review, you've patiently gone through over two hundred thousand words of my ramblings without complaining, made really useful suggestions that I have even listened to occasionally, and helped keep me on the straight and narrow. You know who you are, honey.

Last of all, thank you to all of you, for taking the time to read this.

Kitty

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THE PLAY-LIST

Chapter One - "Common People" by Pulp  
Chapter Two - "F.E.E.L.I.N.G. C.A.L.L.E.D. L.O.V.E." by Pulp  
Chapter Three - "Dancing in the Moonlight" by Toploader  
Chapter Four - "Summertime" from _Porgy and Bess_ by George Gershwin  
Chapter Five - "Call Me Irresponsible" by Frank Sinatra  
Chapter Six - "Pencil Skirt" by Pulp  
Chapter Seven - "I Don't Like Mondays" by the Boom Town Rats  
Chapter Eight - "Respect" by Erasure  
Chapter Nine - "You Don't Mean Anything To Me" by Simple Plan  
Chapter Ten - "Don't Stop Me Now" by Queen  
Chapter Eleven - "Bad to the Bone" by the Destroyers  
Chapter Twelve - "One Way or Another" by Blondie  
Chapter Thirteen - "The House of the Rising Sun" by The Animals  
Chapter Fourteen - "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival  
Chapter Fifteen - "Hallelujah" by Jeff Buckley  
Chapter Sixteen - "Hotel California" by The Eagles  
Chapter Seventeen - "In Praise of the Vulnerable Man" by Alanis Morissette  
Chapter Eighteen - "Harvest Moon" by Bedlam  
Epilogue -"How To Save A Life" by The Fray


End file.
